


To Not Fade Away

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, O Brother Where Art Thou - Freeform, Post 11.09, Sam In Cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is trapped with Lucifer again. Dean is desperate. What does the Devil have in store for Sam this time? <br/>Post 11.09 – O Brother, Where Art Though?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_Chapter One_ **

 

Dean was coasting along at the speed limit on the I-95 heading back to Crowley’s place. He was in no real rush to get back to Sam, as he knew when he did the arguments would start. Dean had just seen what had to be a whole legion of angels coming for Amara, and it seemed sensible—to him at least—to see what happened there before trying Sam’s damn fool idea to get help from Satan. If the angels pulled it off, there was nothing for them to do. Lucifer could go on rotting, and he and Sam could get back to dealing with the rest of the world’s crap like always.

Sam wouldn’t see it that way though. He would want to be sure that Amara was dead. He would probably argue that if the angels were capable of doing something, Castiel would have known. He would want his ‘God’ visions to mean something so he would insist on them doing it all, putting himself in Lucifer’s clutches long enough for the devil to throw some spanner into the works. Because there was no way, no way at all Lucifer would actually help them. The dude that had been planning to bring the world to its knees with Croatoan would probably make a grat playmate for The Darkness. They’d both been screwed over by God and Dean was sure they’d both like to ‘talk’ to him. He shuddered as he imagined the carnage that would ensue if Lucifer and Amara actually did team up.

No, Sam could shout and stamp all he liked, but Dean was making the decision for them. They weren’t going to Lucifer.

He laughed. Like it would be that easy. Sam was as stubborn as their father ever was, maybe even more, and he was so set on this Lucifer thing. You would think after all he’d been through—almost two centuries in the pit and a busted soul—that he would want to steer clear of the cage and Lucifer even more than Dean. But he didn’t. He didn’t even seem to take into account how close to death he came the last time he encountered Lucifer, and that was just as a hallucination. Sam’s self-sacrifice gene was bigger than most people’s.

Dean would find a way to stop him though, even if it meant killing Rowena. They couldn’t work the magic on the cage if the witch was dead. And it wasn’t like Crowley would mind them taking out his mom. She was a pain in his ass, too.

There would be a way, and Dean would find it.

He had gone another few miles when his phone rang. He checked the screen and sighed. It made sense that Sam was getting twitchy since he’d missed his last call. He would be all too eager to throw himself on the fire.

“Sammy?”

“Afraid not,” Crowley drawled. “Sam’s a little occupied right now.”

“Well, get him unoccupied,” Dean said. “I want to talk to him.”

“Unoccupied? Is he a restroom stall now?” Crowley chuckled. “Look, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to call. I should wait to see the look on your face… But I thought I’d do you a favor and give you the head’s up.”

“Talk fast or lose a tooth, Crowley,” Dean threatened.

“Actually, you know what, screw you. I was doing you a favor, but you can bloody well wait.”

“What’s happened to my brother, Crowley?” Dean asked in a growl.

“Nope. Not playing. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Why do you have his phone?”

“You could say he willed it to me,” Crowley said happily. “It’s certainly no good to him where he is now anyway.”

“What have you done?” Dean snarled.

“Me? Nothing. This is all down to the moose. I’ll see you soon, Dean.” There was the beep of a disconnected call and Dean’s screen went black. He dropped the phone down to the seat beside him and punched the steering wheel.

“Goddammit!”

Crowley had Sam’s phone. That meant he had wrested it from Sam or Sam had given it up willingly. There was no comforting third option of Sam leaving it somewhere and Crowley taking it because Sam wasn’t that stupid. He knew how important it was for them to be able to reach each other when it mattered.

Like when Sam had tried to reach him before, when Dean had been too distracted by the sense of Amara’s proximity…

He cursed. Who knew why Sam had been calling then. Maybe that had been Sam reaching out for help, and he’d ignored it. He hadn’t been able to control it though. The feeling of Amara had overpowered sense.

He took a breath and tried to calm himself.

It would be okay. Sam would be fine. Crowley wouldn’t want him dead while Amara was still around. It was probably just Crowley’s idea of a joke: lock Sam down and wait for Dean to come to the rescue just for shits and giggles. Sam would be beyond pissed about it, but he’d be okay. The worst part was going to be Crowley’s delight at screwing with them and Sam’s crowing about how Dean should have answered his phone. It would be okay.

He hoped.

His foot pressed down harder on the gas and his fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. He had somewhere he needed to be.

xXx

Dean had the rest of the journey to make him good and mad, so by the time he arrived at the abandoned asylum Crowley had set up shop in, he was furious and wanting nothing more than to shiv the demon blade straight through Crowley’s neck.

He had barely slammed the Impala to a stop before he was out and stamping up to the door. With a clenched fist, he hammered on in, surprised when it swung open at his touch. Security had been tighter when he’d left the place there had been a demon just inside, but when he shoved the door open, he was alone.

Figuring it was just Crowley’s idea of a joke, letting him in feeling confident before revealing Sam bound and trussed—maybe with a knife at his throat—Dean stormed along the hall, the demon knife gripped tight in his hand. He wasn’t going for the element of surprise; that wouldn’t work given that the game was Crowley’s this time. He strode along the hall, shouting, “Sam!”

A door at the very end opened but no one revealed themselves. Dean hurried his pace into what he thought Crowley must call the throne room and what he called a douched out ruin.

Though no one had revealed themselves when the door had opened, there were plenty demons in the room. Dean did a quick headcount as he entered and he came up with a dozen.

“Okay,” he said, looking from one set of black eyes to the next and raising the demon knife, “who’s first?”

If they made a fight of it, he was going down for sure, but he knew they wouldn’t. That wouldn’t please Crowley. If he wanted Dean dead, he would do it himself. He didn’t want him dead though. Not yet at least.

“We’re not here to fight you,” one demon said, stepping forward as mouthpiece for the group. “We’re here to watch.”

“Where’s my brother?” Dean asked.

“Not here.”

“Then what are you here to watch?”

The demon merely smiled.

“Where the hell is my brother?” Dean asked, moving into the demon’s space and pressing the knife to his chest. Things weren’t adding up to him. He had expected to be met with Sam in trouble and Crowley. The King of Hell was nowhere to be seen, and neither was his brother.

The demon looked down at the knife, unconcerned. “Not here.”

Dean wanted to stab the demon for the sheer satisfaction of seeing it die, but he reminded himself it wasn’t just a demon; it was a human, too, and they were supposed to be saving lives. Sam was big on doing good again, and Dean was on board with that, he was, but it was hard to remember that when the black-eyed bastard was smiling smugly at him like that.  

He wouldn’t kill without more motivation, but he would still do his best to scare. He grabbed the demon’s suit lapels, brought the blade to its throat, and pressed in so it nicked the skin. There was a flicker of light and the demon hissed.

“Where is Sam?”

“I can’t tell you,” the demon said.

“Don’t know?”

“Oh, I know, I just made a promise to the boss I’d keep quiet.”

“Break it,” Dean growled. “Tell me where he is and I’ll let you die fast. If you know me, you’ll know I can make it slow, too.”

“Put the demon down, Dean,” a dry voice said behind him.

Dean looked over his shoulder to see Crowley and Rowena standing in the doorway. Rowena was appraising him carefully, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. Crowley merely looked amused.

He turned the demon with the knife still pressed against his throat and glared at Crowley. “What have you done with Sam?”

“Me? Not a thing. He did it all to himself.” Crowley sighed and waved a hand. “You may leave us.”

The demons filed from the room, leaving Dean alone with Crowley, Rowena and the still held demon foot soldier.

“Let him go,” Crowley said. “Or stab him. I’m good with either.” When Dean did neither he went on tiredly, “Dean, I am doing you a favor here. Trying to give you some privacy to feel your feels.”

Dean looked at him and he felt a flicker of fear. “Where’s Sam?” he asked, cursing the waver in his voice.

“Oh, look at the poor, wee lamb,” Rowena said. “He doesn’t even know and he looks like that.”

“Know what?” Dean released the demon and walked toward Crowley, the blade held up. “Tell me what’s going on!”

The demon Dean had been holding slipped out of the door unnoticed as Dean stalked toward Crowley. Looking supremely unconcerned, Crowley walked away and took his seat on the throne. When he had settled himself comfortably he said, “You see, Dean, you weren’t here, and the moose had to do what he had to do, and—“

“Your brother’s in Hell,” Rowena said.

“He’s what?” Dean shouted as Crowley said, “Mother! I was going to tell him.”

“You were taking too long,” she replied.

Crowley sighed heavily and addressed Dean who stood, numb, in front of him, the demon blade held loosely at his side. “ _She_ found the spell we needed, so we went ahead and did it without you. The moose was talking to Lucifer, and the next thing we know he’s in the cage with him.”

“He’s in the…” Dean swallowed hard.

“The cage, yes,” Rowena said. “Strangest thing. One moment they were just talking through the bars and the next, poof, Sam’s inside.”

“Technically, it’s not _the_ cage,” Crowley added. “It’s just a cage with Lucifer in it. Which I suppose makes it the same thing, just with one archangel playing dodge ball with Sam as the ball instead of two. Count your blessings.”

It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be… There. Not again. Dean wavered.

“Maybe you should get him a chair, Fergus. It looks like he’s about to drop.”

“He won’t. Winchesters are too stubborn for that.”

Their voices seemed to come to him at the bottom of a well. Dean couldn’t think or speak. He didn’t even feel like he was breathing. This couldn’t be happening again. They’d got him out. Castiel, Death, Dean, between them they’d got him out and he was broken, so broken it almost destroyed him, but he was out. He couldn’t be back in there.

“What do I do?” Dean whispered, not speaking to either of them but receiving an answer nonetheless.

“Not a thing you can do,” Crowley said, satisfied. “You can’t go poking at the lock without releasing Lucifer. None of us want that. I think you have to chalk it up to fate and let it be this time, Dean.”

Rowena scoffed. “He cannot do that, Fergus. It’s his brother.”

“What do _you_ know about family?” Crowley asked bitterly.

“I am a mother!”

“You are a malignancy.”

“Fine, I’m a bad mother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand family. I saw the trouble Sam stirred up getting rid of the mark for Dean. Do you really think this one won’t do the same? I know I didn’t exactly attend to your schooling when you were a wee lad, but you’re not stupid enough to believe that.”

She was right. Dean wasn’t letting Sam stay there. Never again. He was getting him out and if that came with Lucifer riding shotgun, so be it.

“I need to see him,” Dean said.

Crowley chuckled. “Course you do. And let me guess, you plan on bringing a crowbar with you? Nice try, Dean, but it won’t work. This is still Hell and it’s still a cage. There’s no popping him out of this box.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if I see him, does it?” Dean said, fighting down his panic.

“He has a point,” Rowena said. “Maybe it’s the merciful thing to do, letting them say goodbye. It’s not like he can pick the lock.”

Crowley threw his arms up. “Fine. Let him see. I don’t care either way.”

Rowena clapped her hands together. “Lovely. Let’s get to it.”

xXx

Dean was very aware that he was back in Hell. The smells and sounds were the same. The only difference was that there were no souls on racks or demons other than Crowley. He had always thought that if he was back here, even for a moment, it would break him. But he was already broken. The terror of his location was nothing compared to the terror of what awaited him at the end of this journey—Sam in the cage.

The thought of what he was facing ahead stole the air from his lungs and the power from his heart. His vision wavered and he felt sure he would lose himself, but he didn’t. Some inner reserve of strength in him kept him putting one foot in front of the other and kept his body working, living, hurting, burning like a man aflame.

Crowley and Rowena were bickering as they walked, but Dean tuned them out. He thought only of his brother and what he needed from Dean, and that was his freedom.

What felt like a heartbeat later and lifetime combined Crowley caught Dean’s arm and stopped him. “We’re almost there.”

Dean looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

“I said _almost,_ you tool. I am just checking because I don’t want to carry back a blubbering mess because you don’t like what you’re about to see.”

“Have faith, Fergus. He can handle it, cant you, dear?”

Could he? He wasn’t sure. He knew he had to see it though, though. He had to face what had happened.

“Come on then,” Crowley sighed. “Let’s get it over with.” He tugged on Dean’s arm.

Dean allowed himself to be tugged along the passage to a huge cavern with glistening walls. Dean looked down at the floor, watching his feet as he walked on, led by Crowley, until they came to a stop.

“There it is,” Crowley said.

Dean dragged his eyes upward and saw it, the cage. It was tall with thick iron bars, but he couldn’t see through them. It was as if the contents were shielded by thick smoke. It wasn’t demons. It was white smoke, but it moved in the same ebbing, flowing way. Dean stared into it, trying to see through to his brother. There was no possibility though; it was too dense

“That’s new,” Crowley said. “Hmm…guess Lucifer wanted a little quiet time.” He sounded amused, unconcerned.

A wonderful idea occurred to Dean. He sounded _amused_. Was it possible this was all some kind of joke on Crowley’s part? Sam could be pinned down somewhere else. That wasn’t good, but it was better than the absolute horror that was Sam with Lucifer again.

“He’s in there is he?” he asked, rounding on Crowley.

Crowley nodded, a gleeful smile on his face.

“And this isn’t some trick to screw with me?”

“It could be,” Rowena said thoughtfully. “I mean, I saw it, but I wouldn’t put it past him so I am sure you wouldn’t either, but even my boy has limits to his capabilities, and he cannot do that…” She pointed at the cage.

Dean turned slowly, scared of what he would see, and his heart sank. There was a hand held out through the bars. The splayed, searching fingers were crooked and the knuckles scarred from fights, and there was another scar, a deeper one, on the palm that Dean knew. He remembered sewing the gash closed and he remembered pressing down on the wound shortly after to hurt his brother, to reach him through the delusion that had him thinking he was Lucifer. It was Sam’s hand.

“Oh, God,” he gasping, rushing forward and grabbing at the hand, gripping it, forging a connection. Sam’s fingers gripped him back tightly and Dean felt warmth sliding down his face. “Sammy,” he said desperately. The fingers clenched in return. “Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

“Truly touching,” Crowley said behind him.

“Hush, Fergus,” Rowena said. “Can you not see they’re having a moment?”

Dean heard their words but he didn’t absorb them. They meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the hand in his.

Then, in a rough movement, the hand was gone, ripped from his grip and pulled back through the bars into the smoke.

“Huh, guess Lucifer isn’t too keen on broments, either,” Crowley said. “You think he of all people would understand.”

Dean cried out and reached for the cage, determined to reach right through and drag his brother back, to stay there to the end of time, to hold him, but it was as if the smoke was solid. He couldn’t move past the bars. He gripped them and pulled, as if they would break. There was not one iota of give in them.

“Sam!” he said desperately. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.”

There was no sound in response, not a whisper, but in Dean’s head, he heard the echo of a scream and laughter. He rested his forehead against the bars and whispered his brother’s name again and again, feeling the warm wetness painting his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn’t know how long he stayed like that, crying and calling to a brother that couldn’t reply, but eventually, the numbness faded and the burn of anger and pain replaced it. He turned slowly and fixed his eyes on Rowena, ignoring her son completely. “Get him out,” he said slowly, carefully, menacingly.   
Though it was Rowena he’d addressed, it was Crowley that answered. “No.”  
“What?”  
“No can do, Squirrel.”  
“Get him out!” Dean shouted.   
Crowley shook his head. “We can’t.”  
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I get that it’s dangerous—“  
“Suicidal more like,” Crowley interjected.   
“—but that is my brother in there.”  
“It’s not happening,” Crowley said.   
Dean turned away from him and fixed his desperate gaze on Rowena. “Help me.”  
“You know I would…” she said, “but Fergus here has promised me a slow, painful death if I do.”  
“It’s Sam,” Dean said, careful to keep his tone even.   
“I know, and I know what a twisty turney codependency thing the pair of you have—Fergus lent me some dear wee books—but I can’t do it.”  
Dean grimaced. “Please.”   
“Oh, please?” Crowley said. “That’s a completely different matter. I didn’t realize you were going to say please. Go ahead, mother, end the world again because he said please.”  
“Hush, Fergus.” Rowena slapped his arm. “I would love to be the one to bring the Dark Prince back into the world”—she shivered a little at the name—“I have limits. Almighty leader of the Mega Coven I might be, I am still human.”  
“Mega Coven?” Crowley scoffed. “That’s the daftest name I’ve heard since brainless over there dubbed him and his screwy family Team Free Will.”  
Rowena and Dean both ignored him. “You’re saying you can’t?” Dean asked.   
“I’m saying I would be stupid to try. There’s a chance Lucifer would be grateful, I suppose, and he might even let me live, but there’s a good chance he won’t.” She glanced at Crowley. “And I think he’s serious about the slow and painful part.”  
Crowley nodded. “I am.”   
Dean shook his head and turned back to the cage. “What do I do?”  
“I suggest you find another hapless woman to bed down with,” Crowley said smugly. “Maybe she’ll have a son you can pretend is yours. Just because it didn’t work out last time…”  
“It didn’t?” Rowena asked.   
Crowley grinned. “Had his pet angel wipe her memory like an Etch-a-Sketch.” Anger roiled in Dean and he started toward the demon, poised to attack. Crowley wasn’t done, however. “Face it, Dean. You lost Lisa. You lost Ben. And now you’ve lost Sam. You need to carve out a new life alone, because like it or not, he’s not coming back this time.”   
xXx  
Dean had no clear memory of leaving Hell past lurching toward Crowley while Rowena clucked sympathetically and insincerely beside him. Perhaps he’d been knocked out by Crowley to make manhandling him easier. Perhaps Rowena had done some witchy hoodoo to make him forget. Perhaps his mind was just too full of the agony of Sam to let him think of anything else. One moment he was there, ready to kill, and the next he was behind the wheel of the Impala, powering along the interstate. He gasped and the car swerved into the wrong lane for a second before he took control again. He corrected and ignored the people leaning on their horns in protest at his driving.   
He had no idea where he was and could see nothing familiar, so he decided his next course of action had to be getting his bearings. Simple tasks were the key. He needed to know where he was to he could get back to the bunker. That was simple. When he was there he’d have the wealth of all knowledge the Men on Letters ever accumulated. He could attack the stacks and find out all there was to know about Lucifer and the cage. He would find a way to get Sam out on his own. Not so simple maybe, but he would do it. He had to.   
Getting his bearings turned out to be easier than he had thought. A few minutes down the road he realized he was on the Lebanon road. He had apparently made it almost all the way home. He wasn’t sure whether he should be shocked or grateful that he had driven so far without being aware of it. Having a direction now helped. He sped slightly and took the turn that would lead him to the bunker.  
Though it was hardly the first time he had gone into the Bunker knowing Sam wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of the door for him, he still felt a pang of pain as he entered and saw the cavernous room empty and quiet.   
His footsteps echoed as he walked down the stairs. He wished for noise: Kevin’s voice shouting about the pizza getting cold. Charlie’s blind happiness at them all being together, no matter the circumstances. And Sam. The silent communication that would pass between them as their words spoken aloud were casual. Most of their concern and care was nonverbal. Only injury and death making them open up and really talk about how they felt. It was so messed up. When he got Sam back, he would say all the things he usually communicated in a glance—I’m glad you’re okay. I worry for you. I care.   
He would say it all and more just as soon as he got his brother back.   
xXx  
There was a clock on the wall of the library in the bunker. It had always annoyed Dean. It ticked too loud and when the hour came round it chimed. Dean hated it. Sam loved it. It reminded him of some college or childhood memory that he would never tell Dean about, which probably meant Dean would have made fun of it. Dean threatened to shoot it off the wall so many times it was now a joke between them.  
Its ticking was driving Dean insane.   
He didn’t even realize he was going to do it. One moment he was bent over a book on Angel lore, wishing the damn thing would shut up already, and the next his gun was pointed at the wall and the clock was in pieces on the floor.   
“Dean! Sam!” a voice shouted from what seemed like a long distance away. Dean barely heard it.   
He walked towards the fragments of the clock on the floor and bent to pick up a jagged shard of the glass face.   
“What are you doing?” Castiel’s confused voice came from behind him.   
Dean straightened and turned to face him, his hands fisting. He felt the sharp sting and then the warmth as the glass cut into his palm and the blood flowed.  
“Dean!” Castiel lifted his palm and uncurled his fingers from around the glass shard. The blood flowed faster for a moment, and then Castiel ran his hand over the cut and it was healed.   
“Cas,” Dean said quietly. “What are you doing here?”  
Castiel look at him unbelievingly. “What happened to you?”  
“Sam,” Dean said mournfully.   
Castiel looked worried. “Where is he?”   
Dean turned away. He couldn’t bear to say it. He didn’t want to make it real.   
Castiel took his shoulders and shook him roughly. “Dean! Where is Sam?”  
“Gone.”  
“Gone where? Has he left again?”  
If only. That would have been better, for Sam to have left him behind because he was pissed about something. Dean could have made it better. He could have found Sam and apologized. He’d have sat him down and made him listen and he would have said sorry until his throat was raw if that was what it took to make it right again.   
“He’s…” Dean swallowed down the nausea, took a breath, and forced out the words, “with Lucifer.”  
Castiel took a step back. “What?”  
“In the cage. Not the cage, I don’t think. Just a cage. But Lucifer is there. He’s trapped. We messed up.”  
He chanced a glance at Castiel and saw the horror dawn in his eyes. “No! How? Why?”  
“Sammy’s been praying. The first time was in that hospital just after the Darkness was released, and he had a… vision, I guess. It was kinda crazy. He’s been praying more and seeing more ever since. He sees Hell. His Hell. He thinks it’s God.”  
“God is talking to Sam?”   
“He thinks so. I don’t think it can be though, as I don’t see what good it would do for him to be back in the Cage. We thought it was the only way. He thought God was telling him Lucifer was the answer to the Darkness, so I… I backed his play, Cas. We went to Rowena, and I don’t know how it happened, but somehow he’s in there again.”  
“You went to Lucifer,” Castiel growled. “You went to Lucifer!”  
Dean bowed his head. When it was said aloud, it sounded as insane as it really was. But when Sam was talking to him, so earnest, saying this was what God wanted him to do, Dean had started to believe, too. They were desperate.   
Suddenly, Castiel’s hands were fisted in Dean’s shirt and he was shaking him. “You idiotic, independent, stubborn… Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“You’d have tried to stop us.”  
“You should have been stopped!” Castiel shouted.  
Dean’s own anger came to his defense and he shoved Castiel away. “You should have been here! Why weren’t you here?”   
“Because I was trying to stop others in my family doing idiotic things! The angels got it into their heads that they could actually pose a threat to The Darkness if they were to attack en masse. I was trying to stop them.”  
Dean didn’t even ask if it had worked. He was past caring about The Darkness. His brother was in Hell. There was nothing worse than that.   
“You should have been here,” Dean said again, eyes fixed on his feet. He knew he was being unfair. Castiel could have had no idea what they were planning. He possibly couldn’t even have stopped them if he had known. Dean had never liked the plan, but he’d gone along with it, hadn’t he? He had let Sam call the shots.   
Castiel drew a breath and then he asked in a measured voice, “What exactly happened?”  
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I wasn’t there.”  
“You weren’t… Why weren’t you there?”  
“We got a clue on Amara, so I went after it while Sam stayed with Rowena and Crowley. And then, when Sam called, I was… distracted. I thought it would be okay. I never thought he would do it without me. I’d told him not to.”  
“You told him not to?” Castiel scoffed. “This is Sam, Dean. Did you really think that would make a difference that you told him to wait? And what did you even think would happen if you did find Amara?”  
“She was killing people, Cas!”  
“I am aware. What I want to know is what you thought you could do about it.”  
Dean had no answer to give. He hadn’t known it was Amara when he’d followed the lead to the church, but they’d both thought it was. He hadn’t had a weapon, and yet he’d known he had to see her anyway. And then, when Sam had called, he’d ignored it, and then he’d kissed her. Had Sam already been in hell when that happened? Had Sam been trapped with Lucifer when Dean had been kissing The Darkness?  
He retched.   
The show of weakness seemed to steal Castiel’s anger. He sighed heavily and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, gently this time. “I’m sorry, Dean.”  
“What am I going to do?” Dean asked in a moan.   
“We are going to find a way to get him out of Hell,” Castiel said simply.  
“Can you do it?” Dean asked. “I mean you did last time.”  
“I cannot. Last time I had the full power of Heaven behind me. I had my wings. I do not have that anymore,” he said apologetically. “We will find a way though.”  
Dean looked up at him, desperation in his eyes “We have to do it fast, Cas. His soul…”  
Castiel nodded and Dean knew he understood. Castiel had taken the experience of Hell from Sam, but he hadn’t taken the damage. Sam’s soul was already close to ruined. How long could it sustain in the cage with Lucifer again?  
“We will,” Castiel said with certainty. “We will find a way.” His voice became a whisper Dean wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. “We have to.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had once seen Sam’s soul.

When Death had brought it out of the Cage, before it had been returned to Sam, Dean had seen it in his hand. It had been the most amazing thing. Pure, unblemished light, the reality of who his brother was—not the body or the RoboSam he’d been living with the previous six months. It was that light that made Sam Sam. It was that Dean was terrified for, because Lucifer was using it as a chew toy even now and Dean didn’t know how long it would last.

And Castiel was scared, too. He didn’t say it, but it was all there in his whispered words. They weren’t just racing against a clock to minimize Sam’s suffering. They were racing to save him from destruction. What even happened to a soul that was so destroyed? All the things Castiel had warned of—‘ _Paralysis, insanity, psychic pain so profound that he’s locked inside himself for the rest of his life’—_ were what would happen if he lived. What happened to a ruined soul if he died? Would he have any peace in Heaven? Would he know Dean there?

Dean shuddered and Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Dean took the comfort for all of a split second before he had to step away.

He couldn’t ask Castiel the questions that were playing on his mind. He was afraid Castiel would give an honest answer.

He moved away from the angel and sat down at the table again, massaging his temples with his fingertips. He had a headache that seemed stupid and selfish to indulge with a reaction given what was happening.

Castiel eyed him for a moment, seeming to be on the verge of speech, and then he shook his head and sat opposite Dean at the table and opened one of the books Dean had stacked there. “Have you found anything of use?”

“No. I was looking to see if there wsa anything in here about the cage that we didn’t know when we tackled Lucifer before. They know about the rings, but I don’t have Death’s anymore. I’m guessing it was destroyed when I killed him.”

“Dean, the rings open the cage. We cannot do that.”

Dean went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “And it’s not even the same cage this time. I thought maybe there would be similarities. But like I said—“

“Dean!” Castiel barked. “You cannot open the cage!”

Dean looked at him, brow furrowed. “I know. I just said that. It’s the wrong cage.”

“We cannot open any cage Sam is in without freeing Lucifer.”

Dean turned away, indifferent. How did Castiel think they were getting Sam out if it wasn’t by opening the cage and letting them both out? They would get him out and then they would deal with Lucifer together. There was a whole library of angel lore here. There had to be something about powering down a rogue archangel. Otherwise what was the point of them? Every book and every person that had given their life to the Men Of Letters were useless if they couldn’t help him get Sam back.

“Dean!” Castiel said harshly, moving to stand in front of him and gripping his shoulders again. “You cannot do this. Think of Sam.”

“I am thinking of Sam!” Dean said yanking himself out of Castiel’s hold. “I am thinking my brother is trapped in Hell, being destroyed right now, because he was trying to save the world. Again. He thought _God_ was talking to him, and he went against his fear to do something about it. He was so scared and he did it anyway because he thought it would help. I am not leaving him there because he was doing the right thing!” He would not leave him there no matter what reason he had for being there. Nothing was worth Sam being in Hell.

Castiel’s lips pressed into a thin line, and then he said, “I would exchange myself for Sam in a heartbeat if I could. You know that. I cannot though, and I cannot let you destroy the world in his name. Sam would not want that. Think, Dean, when he carried Lucifer into the cage before, he gave you clear instructions. He did not want you to attempt to get him out. He knew just how great a risk that was to the world.”

“If you think I am going to…”

“I don’t. Of course I don’t. I will not leave him there either. What I am saying is that we need to do it the right way this time. Every time, every single time we have gone to do what we believe is the right thing without considering consequences, we have almost ended it all. Sam thought he was saving the world when he teamed with Ruby, the apocalypse was started. I thought working with Crowley was the only solution to Raphael, and I released the Leviathans. Metatron tricked me into making the angels fall. And you…”

“Got myself branded with the Mark of Cain and ended up a demon,” Dean finished for him, his voice bitter. “Yeah. I know.”

“I am not saying this to hurt you. I am trying to make you see that we have to be careful about this. We must look at it, whatever solution we come to, from all angles before acting.”

Dean nodded slowly. He understood what Castiel was saying. He almost agreed. He was right in that whenever they tried to act for the best on a grand scale, they screwed the pooch. But this was Sam. This was Hell. This was Lucifer. This was the destruction of his brother. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to fix that mess. Because that was what Castiel didn’t understand. Dean had made that promise when Sam was gone, he said he wouldn’t poke at the lock, but he had lied. He spent that year searching for a way to get his brother out, and this time it would be no different.

“Well,” Castiel said bracingly. “These books are no good to us regarding the cage, so what other options do we have?”

Dean sighed and sat down at the table, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “My first stop would be Death, but I took him out with his own Scythe.”

“You did,” Castiel agreed. “And Crowley would not be strong enough to overpower Lucifer in order for us to release Sam. He may be King of Hell, but he is still just a demon at heart.”

“He won’t do it anyway,” Dean said. “I asked.”

“The same problem applies to Rowena. She could perhaps free him, but she would also free Lucifer.”

And she wouldn’t do it. Her sense of self preservation was too strong.

“I cannot do it,” Castiel said, “I do not have that power anymore.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying hard to keep the frustration from his tone, “you said.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence. There was no one else. All their strongest allies were dead. Almost all of their friends were dead. Ash, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Charlie, Kevin. Garth was still around but he was a werewolf and he was not the sharpest tool anyway. Jody and Donna were great, but they would be so out of their depth with this. They wouldn’t be able to help worth a damn.

Then an idea occurred to Dean and he sucked in a sharp breath. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“What are you thinking?” Castiel asked, his voice guarded.

“Amara,” Dean whispered. She was power and force and strength. She would be able to do this. She could likely stroll into Hell on a whim and pull out every soul in there if she felt like it. And she was stronger than Lucifer. She would overpower him easily. This was perfect. She could get Sam out and keep Lucifer in.

“The Darkness,” Castiel said dourly. “You plan to enlist the help of the force that could destroy the world more surely than Lucifer ever could.”

“Yes,” Dean said simply.

“Have you listened to a word I have said?” Castiel asked ~~, raking a hand over his face in frustration~~.

“I have listened to every word you said.” He’d not agreed with it all, but he’d listened.

“Then why do you not see this is possibly the worst option of them all?”

“I don’t think it is. I think this is the only solution. She can take care of Satan and get Sam out in a heartbeat. I know it.”

“And the consequences could be devastating.”

“I don’t think they will be. I don’t see her letting Lucifer out. Why would she? He was one of the archangels that helped God lock her away in the first place. Think, Cas, if there’s any one person with more of a beef with him than us, it’s her.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel conceded.

“And I don’t see her sharing the power of taking over the world with anyone, let alone him. She seems the strong, confident type to me.”

“You have such insight into the Darkness now, do you?” Castiel asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” Dean said. “I do.”

“How?”

“That’s not important. Finding her is.”

Castiel stared into his eyes, seeming to be searching for something. Dean wished he knew what. He would deliver it if he did. Anything it took to get Castiel on board with this was worth it, any lie.

“You may be right,” Castiel said carefully. “At least I think it is our only option that has a chance of working in our favor.” He sighed. “It doesn’t feel safe, but I don’t think anything will when it comes to this. It is a risk however we come at it.”

“I have to get him back, Cas,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel looked at him sympathetically. “I know you do. But what makes you think she even will help us?”

“She will,” Dean said confidently. “I know it.”

“Very well, I will support you to a point. We will at least speak to Amara and see if we can get a gauge on her feelings for Lucifer. If she seems opposed to him, we can perhaps make it work.”

Dean nodded and almost smiled. This was going to work, he was sure. Amara would help him and he would get Sam back.

“We will make sure it is safe first, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

What he didn’t say but was sure Castiel knew anyway was that if this could work, if Amara was willing, he would do it regardless of Castiel’s opinion, because it was Sam, and he had to get him out.

xXx

Dean walked along the hall of the living quarters and came to Sam’s room. He hesitated outside the door. He didn’t know why he was there. Perhaps it was his need to connect with his brother somehow that drove him. Perhaps it was just because he needed some space from Castiel for a moment.

In the time since they had moved into the bunker, Sam had barely changed his room from how it had been when some long dead Man of Letters had used it. The only additions he had made were the TV and the stacks of files on the wall. It was not his home. The Impala was. And that was okay. Dean had once been bothered by it, but now he didn’t care. Sam could claim any building, any motel even as home, and Dean would take it, because that wasn’t what mattered. The fact they were together was.

Dean looked around the Spartan room and then stepped out and pulled the door closed. He would not go back into there until Sam was there again. Then they would warm up the TV with some Game of Thrones and they would just be brothers for a while.

It was dawn. Sam had been gone twelve hours. Sam had been in Hell two months.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucifer smiled widely. “Hey, roomie... upper bunk, lower bunk or you wanna share?”

There was a moment of absolute despair before realization caught up with Sam. This wasn’t real.

After Hell, after Castiel brought the wall tumbling down, Sam would dream of the cage almost every night. He would be there and it would feel so real he could feel the bite of cold in the air that surrounded Lucifer and smell the coppery tang of blood. Dean would wake him from those dreams with a hand on the shoulder, a voice saying, “It’s okay, Sammy.” There would be aspirin in one hand for the headache that always followed and while Sam dry swallowed them and choked out the details of his dream, Dean would squeeze his shoulder and tell him it wasn’t real. Sam would sit on the bed, shaking and trying to calm his racing heart, and Dean would say, “Never again, Sammy. We got you out. You’re never going back.” And Sam would believe, because Dean was there and there would be such certainty in his eyes that Sam _had_ _to_ believe. He would know he was out and there was nothing that could make him go back because Dean wouldn’t let him. So this was a dream. He just had to wait for Dean to wake him up again.

“C’mon, Sam,” Lucifer said. “Don’t go all strong and silent on me. We both know it won’t end well. I’ll get annoyed and you’ll end up with all your skin peeled off.”

Sam shuddered.

Lucifer stepped into his space and trailed a finger down Sam’s cheek, following the line of the tear that had slipped past his careful control. “I hate to see you cry.”

Sam turned away from him and stared through the bars to the place Crowley and Rowena had stood. They were gone, now. His dream had no use for them, thankfully. He didn’t want them there to taunt, and he wanted them to witness his capitulation at the hands of Satan even less.

He heard Lucifer moving behind him but he didn’t turn. Then he felt the cold hands on his shoulders and he flinched. Cool breath tickled his ear as Lucifer leaned in close to speak, “Talk to me, Sam. The more you talk, the less I’ll hurt you.”

That was a lie. It didn’t matter how much Sam would talk, try to distract, it was never enough to stop Lucifer indulging his sadistic desires.

He clasped his hands together and squeezed a thumb down hard on the scar on his palm. The action was like breathing to him once, he would do it so often. It had been a while, but the feeling of hope— _‘Let him be gone, please let him be gone’—_ was the same.

“It’s no good wringing your hands. It’s not going to do you any good. See, I’m _real_ Sam. Bona fide Satan here, not that hallucination your ruined mind came up with. Which, by the way, was awesome. Congrats to your cracked melon for coming up with that. I am _in_ your head, Sam. I see what you see and I know what you know. Every little secret, every hope and dream you keep from Dean, is mine to sift through for the good parts.”

Sam squeezed down on the scar harder and Lucifer yanked his hands apart.

“I am not a hallucination,” he said, sounding almost affronted.

“No,” Sam agreed. “You’re not a hallucination.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “And I’m not a dream either.”

Sam just stared back at him blandly. Lucifer _could_ read his mind because he _was_ Sam’s mind. That didn’t mean Sam shouldn’t guard his reactions. He was a Winchester. He wasn’t giving in.

Lucifer sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to have to do this. I was hoping you would come around on your own, but you’ve forced my hand, Sam. In all of your dreams, did you ever _feel_ this?” He thrust his hand forward and gripped Sam around the throat with icy fingers. Sam felt the shock of pain at once and then the constriction as he tried to draw a breath. It was impossible.

It was _impossible_ … He had never dreamed this. Lucifer had never hurt him physically in a dream. It was always the anticipation of pain that scared him, the memories of what he had been through that scared him. He had never felt like this.

“Now you’re getting it,” Lucifer said approvingly. “Pain equals real and real equals Lucifer. Clever Sam.”

“Stop,” Sam whispered with his last remaining vestiges of air.

“Of course,” Lucifer said, dropping his hand back to his side and watching as Sam bent over and tried to gasp air back into lungs through a burning windpipe.

Tears filled Sam’s eyes and he thumbed them away, even though Lucifer knew they were there the moment they appeared. It was real, not a dream. Sam was in Hell. Lucifer was there. They were in a cage. The only thing missing was…

“This,” Lucifer said, tapping the tip of the straight-edged razor against his teeth with a chinking sound. He held it in front of him, checked the edge with his thumb and nodded to himself. “Now, Sammy, a few ground rules before we start. Screaming, begging, crying and copious bleeding is good, encouraged even. You know that’s my favorite part.”

Sam backed away from him until his shoulders hit the bars of the cage, holding him in place as Lucifer stalked toward him.

“One last chance to save yourself, Sam. Say yes and we will bust out of here together and get to work. We’ll stuff away the Darkness and have ourselves a good time.”

“Never,” Sam ground out.

“In that case, let us begin…”

xXx

Soon after Lucifer started, he stopped again. One moment he was gleefully drawing the blade over Sam’s chest in swirling, shallow patterns, and the next he was swiping a hand over the mess and leaving smeared blood covering newly healed skin.

He didn’t understand at first, and then he heard Crowley say, “Hmm…guess Lucifer wanted a little quiet time.” He looked to see through the bars but they were shrouded by white smoke.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Lucifer pressed a finger to his lips and shushed him. “Listen,” he whispered.

Sam moved closer to the smoke and listened, after a beat hearing the most wonderful and unwelcomed voice. "He's in there is he?" Dean! "And this isn't some trick to screw with me?"

Someone answered, Rowena Sam thought, but his mind was occupied by one fact. Dean was there. “Dean!” he shouted, rushing at the smoke and shoving a hand through the bars. He reached out, grasping at the air, and then there was a hand in his, holding it tight. Sam returned the grip, clinging to his brother. He knew it was him by the inexorable comfort the touch from the rough, callused fingers gave him.

He heard Dean gasp. "Oh, God. Sammy. Sammy, I'm so sorry."

Sam leaned his forehead against the bars and clung to his brother’s hand as tight as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should have listened. It wasn’t God. It was him, Dean, Lucifer. He tricked me. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer chuckled. “He can’t hear you, Sam.”

“But I can hear him.”

“Yes,” he said as if explaining something very obvious to someone very stupid. “Because I want you to. This is my domain, Sam. I control what you see, hear and feel. I control everything. C’mon, Sam. You used to know this stuff.”

“You bastard,” Sam hissed.

“Rude. You know what, I was being kind, letting you both have your moment, but I am done with that. Say goodbye, Sam.”

“Fuck you!”

Lucifer’s expression darkened and he yanked Sam’s shoulder, pulling him back into the cage and wrenching him out of Dean’s hold. He heard Dean cry out as if in pain.

Sam turned to Lucifer, fury blazing in his eyes, and Lucifer laughed.

“I can use you as a sketchpad and you bear it. I stop the broment and you look as though you want to skin _me._ Really, Sam, are you aware of just how backward your relationship with your brother is?”

Sam leaned his head against the bars, “Dean.”

"Sam!" Dean said desperately. "Don't worry. I'll get you out."

“No!” Sam shouted in return, wishing more than anything that Dean could hear him. “Don’t do it, Dean! It’s a trap. He’ll get out.”

Lucifer laughed behind him and whispered in his ear. “You gotta have a Plan B, am I right?”

Sam’s heart seemed to freeze. They were doomed. He would spend eternity in the cage with Lucifer or Dean would get him out and the world would be screwed. There was no other option. It was Sam or the world. After last time— _‘I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books, trying to find anything to bust you out.’—_ he knew which Dean would choose.

Because of Sam’s arrogance, his belief that God would have chosen _him_ of all people to work through, he was going to be the cause of the end of the world. Again.

xXx

Sam and Bobby were sitting on the back steps of Bobby’s place, waiting together for the sun to rise. It had happened a few times before. Sam was an early riser, even on the days they weren’t working a case. He liked to run in the pre-dawn light.

When he’d gotten downstairs that morning, though, Bobby had already been awake, filling the coffee pot. He’d said one word, “Sunrise?” and Sam had decided that watching the day start with his friend was an infinitely more appealing prospect than anything else in the world he could think of. They waited until the coffee was ready and then they’d gone outside together and took a seat facing out into the yard.

As the sun appeared over the horizon, Sam lifted his face to the light and drew in a deep breath of fresh air.

“It’s good, isn’t it,” Bobby said.

Sam nodded. “The best.”

“Better than what you’ve got going on.”

Sam frowned. “It is?”

Bobby peered sideways at him. “You forget what’s happening, Sam?”

Sam was momentarily confused and then his mind caught up—Apocalypse. Lucifer. The Cage. Soulless. Castiel. Leviathans. Dick Roman. The crack of a gun. Idjits.

“You’re dead,” he stated.

Bobby nodded. “I am.”

“Am I?”

“No. Keep looking, Sam.”

Sam dutifully closed his eyes and searched back. Purgatory. Trials. Gadreel. Abaddon. The Mark of Cain. The Darkness. God. Lucifer. The Cage. Again.

“Oh.”

“Yep. Oh.”

“How are you here?”

“The Darkness arrived with a hell of a bang. Things got a little shaky since. Lucifer isn’t the only one that can reach out.”

Sam sighed. “The Darkness. You know what I did.”

“I know you saved your brother. I know you had the best of intentions. I know you didn’t mean to do wrong.”

“That excuse didn’t work last time either,” Sam said.

“No,” Bobby admitted. “I suppose it didn’t.”

The sun was creeping higher, and for a moment they both just watched it before Bobby broke the silence.

“You know what you’ve got to do, Sam.”

Sam turned to look at him, staring into familiar and lamented eyes. “What do I have to do?”

“Say yes.”

“No!” Sam said quickly, devastation ripped through him once again.

“You have no choice, Sam. Think of your soul. Being in there will destroy you and it will destroy your brother. He will rip the world apart to get you out. If you say yes, you’ll have some control. You beat him down once. You can do it again. Hold him inside. You can do it, I know you can.”

Sam shook his head dolefully. “It won’t work.”

“It will. You’re strong. You are stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, stronger than Dean even. You can do it.”

“No,” Sam said sadly. “I mean it won’t work, Lucifer. I know what you are doing, and I won’t fall for it. I’m not saying yes to you. I can’t. I won’t be the man that destroys the world a second time.”

The scrap yard was replaced with bars. Bobby’s face rippled and morphed into Lucifer’s. He smiled grimly. “You know, that was faster than I thought it would be. You’ve gotten smarter in our time apart.”

“I just know my friend well enough to know he’d never say that to me. Bobby loves me, but he wouldn’t choose me over the world. He knows as well as any hunter that the lives of many matter more than any one man.”

Lucifer groaned. “Oh, the stupidity of Man. What’s the point of free will if you don’t use it properly?”

“Never,” Sam said.

“Never say never, Sammy. You’ll only look stupid when you change your mind.”

“I won’t do it,” Sam said defiantly.

“But you will. And soon. I can tell. You’re fading Sam. You’re lying to yourself. Your poor, ruined soul is quickly dying and you will snuff out like a candle.”

“And when that happens,” Sam said, “I will be no good to you anymore. I can’t say yes when I’m not here anymore.”

“That’s where you are wrong. You will say yes because you will be too far gone to do anything else.”

“I guess that’s what will keep me strong then,” Sam said.

He would fight Lucifer with everything he had and he would keep his soul whole. Sam’s new mission was to do whatever it took to not fade away.

xXx

The difference between the cage years ago with Adam and Michael was that now there were higher stakes.

Sam hadn’t known about his soul being destroyed last time. Even if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared. The prospect of snuffing out would have been appealing to him. He’d had no hope of escape, so there was nothing to hold on for. Now he had something to fight for and it was so hard.

Time under the knife was interspersed with visits from people he loved, and each of them would implore him to say yes to Lucifer. Dean would beg him, telling him how he couldn’t do it all alone again. Castiel would tell him pragmatically how Dean was slowly destroying himself in the attempt to free Sam. Bobby would come and make the same arguments as before, and though Sam knew it wasn’t really them, he would sometimes pretend it was as it gave him a break from the pain.

It was after a visit with Dean that Sam ‘woke’ to a new nightmare. He was lying on the floor of the cage, curled into a ball. That was nothing new, that was not the problem. The icy arms wrapped around him and the body spooned up against him from behind that scared him. He froze, even his breath ceasing as Lucifer spoke in a soft, crooning, almost seductive voice. “Do you remember when we were together?” he asked.

Sam drew a shallow breath and said, “Not the kind of thing you forget.”

“Do you remember how right it felt?”

Sam tried to pull away but the Devil held him too tight, his breath tickling the back of Sam’s neck.

“It _never_ felt right,” he said emphatically.

“Liar,” Lucifer whispered. “I can see it all in your mind. You felt it just as much as I did. We were two pieces made whole. Do you remember the blood of Azazel’s gang dripping from our fingers? The rightness of it, seeking revenge together. And that night. Do you remember the night before Michael, and Stull and the cage? Do you remember what we did? We had so much fun, Sammy…”

“No,” Sam growled.

“Lies.” Lucifer tightened his grip around him. “I know you better than you know yourself. I know your weakness, and I know just how close you are to giving me consent. Soon, Sam, so soon."

The very worst part of it all was that Sam knew Lucifer was right. He was going to perish and would probably say yes. He could feel himself fading from day to day. He didn’t know how long he had been in the cage, only that it had been years of intermittent torture of pain and of seeing the people he could never have again. He was doing his best, but Sam knew he was starting to fade away.

“Yes,” Lucifer whispered. “You are. You just need a little more persuasion…”


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week, more than two years of Hell time, and Dean and Castiel were no closer to finding Sam than they had been the moment Dean heard he was gone.

They had been looking, searching everywhere for information and signs of Amara, but there was nothing. There was nothing of use in the Bunker, so Dean had locked it up and taken to the road. He thought because he had sensed Amara once, perhaps he could again if he could just get close enough to her. He drove until his eyes burned and he couldn’t see the road clearly and then he crashed in the closest motel he could find.

Castiel was on the road, too, and though they’d spent the week on opposing sides of the country, they arranged to come together in Oklahoma to talk face to face. Dean used the time off the road to get food that wasn’t served passed through a window and took it back to his room.

He had just finished his last tasteless mouthful when there was a knock on the door. He got to his feet to open it and then stepped back to let the angel enter.

“You look terrible,” Castiel said in lieu of a conventional greeting.

Dean shrugged. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know that. He’d seen himself in the mirror after all. His chin was rough with stubble and his eyes dark with shadows. He was fit and able to look though, and it didn’t impede his search, so he didn’t see the problem. “Haven’t been keeping up with my beauty regimen lately,” he said. “You tend to let things go when your brother’s trapped in Hell.”

Castiel winced and nodded. “You do.” He drew a breath and looked at Dean. “I have news.”

“Amara?” Dean asked hopefully.

“No. It’s about the angels that made an attempt on her life.”

“Every angel in creation, you mean?”

“It wasn’t every angel in creation,” Castiel said. “I was not a part of it and there were others that refused to join Lanius in his mission, others that had no faith that it would be successful.”

Dean dropped back into his chair and raked a hand over his face. “Honest, Cas, I wouldn’t care about the feathered rat pack at the best of times, but now I truly don’t give a shit.”

Castiel spoke harshly. “As their mission was to destroy what could be our one hope to free Sam, I would think you would be a little more interested.”

“It didn’t work,” Dean said tiredly.

“And how do you know that?”

Dean pointed at the black screen of the television. “Been looking. Michael and Lucifer were supposed to destroy half the world with their fight. A host of angels taking out God’s sister would have some pretty huge consequences, too, but all that’s being reported is the usual murder and mayhem. It didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t,” Castiel admitted. “Though I believe the attempt came at a terrible cost.”

“Yeah?” He truly didn’t care. They’d already established that angels couldn’t get Sam out, so he had no use for them. That was all he cared about now, getting Sam out. Anything else was background noise to him.

“I believe they’ve perished,” Castiel said, his voice steeped with sadness. “There is usually a cacophony of voices on angel radio at all times, now it is the barest whisper. The rest have gone.”

Dean yawned.

“My family,” Castiel said angrily, “is dead.”

“Not all of it,” Dean said bitterly. “And they’re _dead._ They’ve blinked out, or moved on, or whatever it is happens to dead angels. It’s over for them. _My_ family is in Hell with Lucifer. Which of us do you think is hurting more right now, Cas?”

Castiel shook his head. “I wasn’t aware it was a competition, and you aren’t the only one, Dean. You know I care for Sam, too.”

Dean knew that. Castiel cared. But Sam wasn’t his brother. His brothers were the ones Amara had snuffed out like a candle. And Dean didn’t care. Brothers was just a word to Castiel. They didn’t have what him and Sam had. They never had and never would. Castiel had lost a lot, sure, but he hadn’t lost what Dean had, and he hadn’t lost it to hell. It wasn’t a competition, but Dean won.

xXx

There was once a huge network of hunters that Dean could have called on in an emergency, not that he ever really did. He’d always had his dad and Sam. But they’d been there. Harvelle’s Roadhouse would be full of them and that was one bar in one state. There was not so many anymore.

Hunting had always been a dangerous vocation, and then the Devil’s Gate opened and demons spilled out, then there was the apocalypse, then Eve’s monsters and Leviathans. Hunters were wiped off the board like captured chess pieces, killed, traumatized or permanently injured so badly they couldn’t work anymore. There weren’t many left that Dean could go to for help, but every single one that he could was on alert for signs of soulless people running amok. That and mass murder of the religious were the only clues Dean had to where to find Amara.

“Anything?” Dean asked hopefully into the receiver. On the line was Rick, one of the remaining hunters and one of the few that had thrown himself into the Amara hunt for Dean.

 _“Thought I had one,”_ he said, _“but it turned out that it was just a particularly rebellious teenager. I don’t know what to tell you Winchester. There’s no sign of this broad I can see.”_

Dean hadn’t told Rick or the others even half of Amara’s story—he’d just said she was incredibly dangerous and they shouldn’t try to tangle with her without his backup. It was shady, but he couldn’t tell them the Winchesters had let loose another apocalyptic enemy on the world. They knew Sam was in trouble though, and that was motivating them to help. Hunters took care of their own.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

They exchanged goodbyes and promises to call if there was any news, and Dean set the phone down on the table beside the laptop. He had set up shop in a motel for a couple hours to scour the news websites for anything that might lead him to Amara. He had done the same thing every day for the past week, ever since he and Castiel had separated again, and he’d found nothing.

The problem was that he wasn’t as adept as Sam at the computer thing. He could hack traffic and surveillance cameras easy enough—Frank had taught him—but he couldn’t get into police databases to check for anything they were keeping out of the press. Sam had always done that side of things, and Dean hadn’t paid much attention when Charlie had talked them through it.

He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. Dammit, he deserved a drink, but he hadn’t touched a drop in the two weeks— _five year_ s—Sam had been gone. When he started drinking, he would be despairing, and it wasn’t time for that yet, not while there was still the chance of Amara helping them.

He snapped the laptop closed and buried his face in his hands. It wasn’t time for despair. Not yet.

xXx

Dean’s heart was hammering against his ribs with anticipation. For the first time in the three weeks since Sam had gone, they had a solid lead. It had been pure, blessed coincidence that they had seen the report coming in as breaking news. A pastor in Nebraska had been murdered in his own church. Castiel had been checking in with Dean. He said it was to exchange information, but since they could do that on the phone and there was none, Dean suspected Castiel just wanted to check in on him in person. They were together though, and Dean was glad, because if this was Amara, he wanted Castiel to come with them when they went to get Sam out. Sam would need them both. Who knew what kind of state he would be in after seven years of Hell?

The church was two hours from where they had been staying when the report came in, and though the cops were still there, the presence of the big guns was over. It made it easy for Dean to lead them away from the guarded front entrance and round the back to find another entryway.

The lock was old and heavy, and though Dean could have picked it given long enough, Castiel bypassed the need by turning the handle hard and breaking the mechanism with a crunch. Dean went ahead inside, listening hard for voices. He was barely a few paces in before Castiel grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to a stop.

“What?” Dean asked, turning to face him.

“There is an angel here.” He walked past Dean hurriedly and through an ordinary looking door as if following a scent. Perhaps he was, Dean thought. He’d never really understood how angels sensing each other had worked.

Dean could hear two voices rumbling through an open door to the left, but Castiel led them right and through another door. There was a short hall and a flight of stairs. Castiel began to climb them without hesitation or any attempt to conceal the sound of his footsteps.

“Dammit, Cas, keep it down,” Dean hissed. “You want the cops coming after us?”

“I will deal with them should they come,” Castiel said simply.

At the top of the stairs was another door that Castiel flung open and marched through. Dean hurried to join him and looked around the room he came to. It was an attic space with sloping ceilings and narrow windows at the end of the eaves. There didn’t seem to be anyone there, let alone an angel on parade.

”You can come out,” Castiel said calmly.

“Who can?” Dean asked, and then snapped his mouth shut as a man appeared on the other side of the room from behind a stack of packing crates.

“Marius?” Castiel asked in a shocked voice.

“Castiel,” the man said in a fear filled voice. “Are you with _her_ now?”

Dean pushed past Castiel. “Her who?”

“The Darkness.” The man whispered, as if afraid she would hear and strike him down. “I saw her coming.”

“When,” Dean asked intensely. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I hid as soon as I saw her approaching the church. She… I think she killed Camael. I heard him scream.”

“She did,” Castiel said soberly. “But how are you here? I thought you were a part of Lanius’ mission to destroy.”

“I was. We both were. She spared us, Castiel. All of us. When we laid siege, she just…disappeared. We could not even hurt her an iota. We tried, we all did, but she was immune to us.”

“I thought you all perished,” Castiel accused.

“We hid. We all did. We stopped talking on the angelic plane and took holy vessels in almost all facets of Christian faith. Camael and I became pastors here. Emilia is preaching from a Baptist tent revival group. All of us have found a place of solace and secrecy.”

“Secrecy in the church,” Dean said dryly. “Imagine that.”

It made sense. Vocational religious would be most likely to grant permission to be vessels and they were the most obvious place to find angels, therefore the last place Amara would look. They were hiding in plain sight. It was a smart move for angels that he dismissed as assholes without independent thought.

“Do you think she has discovered your secret?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know,” Marius said. “I hope not. I could hear her with Camael. She knew he was an angel, of course, but she seemed pleased to have found him. She was talking about wanting to speak to God. I thought perhaps she had just happened upon us.”

“If you saw her, she must have seen you,” Dean said. “So why are you alive?”

“I don’t know,” Marius said. “She didn’t come for me. I waited, but she didn’t come. I don’t know where she went. She just left.”

Dean sighed heavily. That was his hopes dashed. If he just had some clue or even direction she went in, he would have a starting block for searching. He turned away and made for the stairs.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” Dean said without stopping. “She’s gone. There is nothing for me here. You two hug it out or whatever, and call me when you can help me.”

“Dean…”

“No, Cas. There is _nothing_ for me here. You found your family. Mine is still gone.”

Dean marched out to the Impala. His hand was on the door when someone grabbed his shoulders and turned him. “Cas?”

“I have tried to understand,” Castiel said through his teeth. “I have tried to support you and let you get through this the only way you know how, angrily. But I am _sick_ of you pretending you are the only person with a stake in this, acting as if you’re the only one that has lost anything.”

Dean stepped forward into Castiel’s space. “I have lost my _brother_!”

“So have I!” Castiel said harshly. “We are family. You told me that once. Did you mean that or were you just saying whatever you could to stop me?”

Dean remembered saying those words through bloody lips, looking up at Castiel from his knees and hoping he would find the right words to break through the hold that Naomi had over his friend. He had said they were family because they were.

“I meant it,” he admitted.

“Good. I am family, Sam’s family, too. So why do you believe only you are in an pain now? I am doing everything I can to help. I want him back just as much as you. I care, Dean, and I am—”

“I know,” Dean said, cutting him off. “I know you care. I’m sorry I’m being a dick.”

“You are,” Castiel agreed.

Dean almost smiled. “I just…”

“Need him back,” Castiel finished for him. “Yes. We both do.”

xXx

Dean hammered on the asylum door with fists and feet, but no one answered. He’d tried picking the lock and when that failed, he’d trying kicking the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Crowley had amped up security since Sam and Dean had broken in.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there, trying to beat his way inside, but it was long enough for his fists to bruise and his voice to grow rough with strain. He couldn’t leave until he got inside though. There was something in that building that he needed.

“Crowley, you son of a bitch, let me in!” he shouted hoarsely.

He had made the same request in many forms before, sometimes demanding, sometimes cajoling, and even begging once or twice.

“Please!”

There was the grate of metal tumblers turning and then the door was opened by a black-eyed demon in the meat suit of a man probably in his thirties, dark haired and thin. “Winchester,” he said grimly. “The king will see you…”

Dean pushed past him and marched along the corridor to the heavy door at the end. He flung it open and entered Crowley’s court. The King of Hell was sitting in his throne, smiling superiorly at Dean and turning a glass of whiskey in his hand. Rowena was in a chair beside the throne, dressed in a deep purple evening gown with what looked like the makings of a hex-bag in her lap. The scene seemed too perfect, they looked too relaxed, which made him sure it was all an act. Replace Rowena’s hex-bag with knitting and it could be a idyllic scene of family. He didn’t believe a detail of it. They were playing the part when they had probably been clawing each other’s eyes out a minute before he arrived.

“Dean,” Crowley said. “How’ve you been?”

Dean disregarded the question. He wasn’t going to play along with them. He was there for a reason.

“I want to see, Sam.”

Rowena clucked her tongue as she looked him up and down. “Of course you do, you poor wee thing. You’re a wreck without him.”

Dean stared at Crowley who stared back unflinchingly.

“I would…” Crowley said expansively, “if that was what I thought you really wanted. But you and I both know you’re not here to _see_ him, as if you even could with Lucifer running the show. You want him out.”

“Of course he wants him out,” Rowena said, sounding amused. “Anyone would. They’re family.”

“Oh, I don’t know, mother. If _you_ , for example, found yourself trapped in a cage with Satan… well, I’d find the strength to go on without you. I might even find a way to be happy. Or delirious. It’s a fine line really.”

“I understand, pet,” Rowena said. “We MacLeod’s are tough. See, if the Dark Prince was to get free and flense the flesh from your bones, I’d find a way to be happy, too.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but Dean spoke over him. “I just need to see him. I already know you two are useless when it comes down to it. Neither of you have the power needed to actually do something useful like get him out.”

“Reverse psychology,” Crowley said with a nod. “Cute. I’m impressed, Dean. That’s more of a Sam move than a Dean move. You must be growing as a person, seeing past your Hulk-like crush/destroy/kill mindset. Well done. The moose would be proud. Afraid the answer’s the same though. No. You’re not seeing him. I doubt Lucifer would let you anyway. I only get glimpses, and he always blocks me out before the good part.”

“You’ve seen him?” Dean asked.

“You think I would let a treat like Sam Winchester being flayed alive pass me by without witnessing it? Not a chance. Even mother popped in for a peek, didn’t you, mother?”

Dean swallowed down nausea at the mental image.

“Ooh, I did. Poor thing.” She shuddered. “That Lucifer is an artist.”

“Fuck,” Dean groaned.

“So… no,” Crowley said. “You can’t trick us into helping you. You can’t see him. You are welcome to stay and chat. We love having company, but I’m thinking you’ve got more pressing plans. Like drinking, passing out, dreaming of your lost brother, and then starting the cycle over tomorrow. It’s the Winchester way, right?”

Dean wasn’t aware of moving. One moment he was standing, desolate and agonized, the next he was in Crowley’s space, and the King of Hell was holding a hand to his bloody lip. Inexplicably, Crowley smiled, making blood trickle down his chin.

“And here’s the Winchester violence. I knew it was coming.”

Rowena snorted delicately. “Who didn’t?”

“I’m trying to help you, Dean,” Crowley said in a defeated voice. “The last thing I need is another catatonic Winchester cluttering up the halls. If you were to see…” He shook his head.

“Another?” Dean asked, his heart contracting painfully. “Sam’s…”

“He wishes,” Rowena said. “Poor thing could do with the break.”

Crowley nodded. “For once, she’s not lying, Dean.”

Dean turned away, and thumbed at his eyes. He needed to get out of there. He needed a drink. He was going to have one, because now… now he was despairing.

_Sam had been in Hell ten years._

xXx

“Okay, Dean. Up and at ‘em,” a loud voice said. “Daylight’s wasting.”

Dean buried his face in his pillow. “Go away!”

He didn’t even know how she had found him. It wasn’t like he’d been sending postcards.

It had been a week of drink, despair and searching. He had driven from Crowley’s to the nearest liquor store and there he had bought as much whiskey as he could afford and driven to the nearest motel. There he had followed Crowley’s prediction. He had drunk. He had passed out. He had dreamed of Sam. The next day he had searched and then started the cycle all over again. It was all he could do to keep going with the search during the day. It was that or lying down and never moving again.

“Not going anywhere,” Jody said.

Dean rolled over and opened one eye to look at her. “What are you doing here?”

”I brought her,” Castiel said from by the door. “I thought she could help.”

Dean threw the blankets back and swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, not caring that he was only dressed in his shorts. “Help Sam?” he asked blearily, wondering how that was even possible.

“No,” Jody said simply. “Help you.”

Dean glowered. “I don’t know how much Castiel told you, but I’m not the one currently being skinned by Satan.”

Jody’s eyes widened. “He’s what?”

Dean looked at Castiel. “What exactly did you tell her?”

“I told her I needed her to take care of you. I told her about the drinking.”

Dean shook his head dolefully. “That’s your problem with everything that’s going on right now? Me drinking? Seriously, Cas, you’re the one that needs help.”

“What’s happened to Sam?” Jody asked.

Dean drew a deep breath. “Sam is in Hell.” It cost him something to say the words aloud.

“He died?” she whispered.

“No,” Dean said. “He walked in willingly. There’s a big bad in the world right now, again, and he thought the way to get past it was to get some help from an old enemy. The Devil. Only Lucifer tricked him somehow. He’s in a cage of sorts, in Hell itself, and Sam somehow ended up there with him again.”

“Oh, God.”

Dean heard the door click and he raised his eyes from his knees to see Castiel slipping outside and closing it behind him. Coward, Dean thought. He dumped Jody on him and now ran from hearing the truth of the story again.

“And he’s hurting,” Dean said. “I guess I knew it already, but I spoke to Crowley and he told me… And I feel like… And he’s…” He broke off gasping and he looked into Jody’s wet eyes, feeling his own tears trailing down his face. “I think I’ve lost him for real. He’s been gone five weeks, twelve years, and I feel like I’ve lost him.”

Jody opened her arms and he fell forward onto her. She held him like Lisa had after Stull, and just like then, Dean cried openly and clung to her like a life raft, as if she could protect him from drowning in the agony of his situation.

She smoothed a hand through his hair and whispered comfort and he closed his eyes and just let himself feel again: feel the pain, the longing, and the powerlessness. That was what hurt him the most. It wasn’t only that Sam was gone, it was that he was in Hell and Dean was powerless until he found Amara. And even then, she might not help. It might really be the end for him.

xXx

Jody stayed with him all that day. She walked him into the bathroom and threw clean clothes at him. When he came out, showered and dressed, she sent him back inside to shave. Then she walked him along the street to a diner and watched him eat every bite of a massive breakfast. She didn’t tell him to stop drinking, but she made him promise to control just how much he did before she left.

A week passed, a week of showering and shaving every morning, eating proper meals, and limiting his liquor intake to evenings and a couple glasses only. It wasn’t that he was despairing less, it was that—like she said just before she left—he had to make sure Sam was coming out to the strongest version of his brother he could be, because Sam would need him that way.

Castiel stayed with Dean now, and though they didn’t talk about it, Dean knew it was because he wanted to be close in case Dean started slipping back again.

They were in Iowa, talking to a witness to an accident that Dean thought may be connected to Amara. The woman had been part of a church congregation who had been hurt and killed when their bus drove off the road into a gas station. It took only a few minutes of conversation for Dean to ascertain that the crash was less to do with Amara than it was a soused bus driver.

They made their excuses and left, Dean’s heart sinking.

“Just because this time it wasn’t Amara, it doesn’t mean it never will be,” Castiel said when they were both settled in the Impala.

Dean sighed. “Even if it had been, Cas, what could we do. The crash was three days ago. Even three seconds would have been enough for Amara to be on the other side of the world. We’re chasing her trail, and we’re not even doing that very well.”

“Do not give up,” Castiel said harshly.

“I’m not,” Dean growled. As if he ever could. “But I don’t think chasing these trails is going to be the way to find her.”

“Then how do you suggest we do it?”

Dean shrugged. “I have no idea.” He thought if she knew he was in trouble, she would come to him, according to her they had a connection, but how could he make sure she knew? He was all out of ideas. He had to come up with something fast though. His brother’s soul depended on it.

He had been in hell fifteen years.

xXx

_“This is Katie Callahan of PDA News. We’re following the breaking story of the sudden deaths of thirteen Catholic priests on pilgrimage to the Vatican. According to reports they were found dead at dawn in St Peter’s square. The Italian police have not yet released a statement, but people in the area interviewed by our reporters are saying the scene was something out of a horror movie. We will bring you more information as it comes in…”_

Dean turned to Castiel. “Angels?”

Castiel nodded, his expression sad. “I heard their death cries. They begged for help.”

“Cas, man, I’m sorry.” The words felt awkward and stilted, though they were sincere.

“I know,” Castiel said.

“You think it was Amara?”

“I am certain of it.”

Dean sighed. “She’s in Italy now. Awesome. We barely had a chance of finding her before, now she’s gone international we’re really screwed.”

“I don’t think so,” Castiel said. “I think we will find her in time. Winchesters always find a way eventually.”

Dean bowed his head. “We do. But how long’s it going to take? He’s been gone a long time now, Cas.” He drew a breath. “How much of him will be left?”

Castiel didn’t answer.

Sam had been in Hell seventeen years.

xXx

The summer Sam was ten, John had brought them all to Massachusetts for a hunt and they’d stayed a month. It had been great. The cabin they appropriated was on the edge of a lake and he and Sam had spent their days swimming, diving, and laying in the shallows cooling off. For once John hadn’t given them crap about training, and they’d been kids for a while.

Sam had loved it.

Dean had always had a place in his heart for that summer, and when he and Castiel came back to the area following a lead on Amara, Dean had gone for a drive with the vague idea he might be able to find the place again. He thought maybe he could find that place and sit and immerse himself in memories of Sam for a while.

The bunker may have worked for the same goal, but it would have brought to mind memories of Sam as an adult, Sam damaged and tired, sometimes sick, always fighting. It was the innocent child Dean wished to connect with now. The child who had his whole life ahead of him. The child without a flayed soul.

He didn’t find any cabin, let alone the one they’d used, but he found a lake to enjoy. He sat down at the water’s edge and began to throw a handful of stones that he’d collected into the water, a pastime Sam had always enjoyed. He had got to the last of his handful when he felt someone step up behind him. His heart raced. He could _feel_ her, he was sure.

He turned slowly, praying silently that he was right.

She stood behind him, unchanged from the last time he had seen her.

“Amara,” he breathed.

“Hello, Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean scrambled to his feet. “Amara!”

She was there, right in front of him. After all this time, the weeks of searching and chasing down leads she was actually there. She looked a little amused at his awed reaction, possibly seeing something in it that wasn’t there. Some echo of the kiss Dean was resolutely not thinking about maybe. Whatever it was, he didn’t have time to decipher it.

“Amara,” he said again.

She smiled coquettishly. “Who were you expecting?”

“You. I mean no one. I mean I was _hoping._ I’ve been looking for weeks. And I couldn’t… But you’re here.” He nodded decisively. “Good.”

She looked at his empty hands and frowned. “You don’t have a weapon.”

“I don’t,” he agreed.

“And there are no angels here.”

“No. And you can’t go, okay? If they show up you have to stay.”

“They cannot kill me, Dean,” she said, almost apologetically.

“I know, and believe me, I don’t want them to.”

His mind seemed to be working in reverse it was so slow. He knew what he needed to say, but his thoughts and words weren’t cooperating.

“You _don’t_ want me dead?” she asked, clearly confused.

“No,” he said fervently. “I need you.”

She brought a hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. He bore the touch for a moment and then stepped back slowly and shook his head to clear it.

“What do you need, Dean?” she asked in a soft, seductive voice.

“I need help.” He was mortified that his voice came out rough and strained with emotion. She was going to misread all of this as desire. Maybe that would help his cause.

Her eyes softened. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Sam, my brother. He’s in Hell, and he’s hurting so much, and it’s been so long and I should have…”

He stopped babbling as she pressed a hand to his chest. “Calm, Dean,” she said, and though it was softly spoken, it sounded like a command and he obeyed. He purposely slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, marshalling himself.

“Sam’s in Hell,” he said. “He got trapped in there. It’s not the first time. I don’t know how much Crowley told you, but he was there before, and he was… damaged, hurt bad. We have to get him out before he’s gone completely.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “You have been looking for me all this time, following me, because of this?”

“Yes,” Dean said emphatically.

“Oh. I thought you’d found another way to attempt to kill me.” She sounded regretful.

“You knew?” Dean asked. “You knew I was following you?”

“Of course, Dean. We’re connected. Had I know what you needed, I wouldn’t have hidden. I only came tonight because I finally grew tired of our dance.”

Dean took a moment just to absorb that, the knowledge that while he’d been searching the country for her, she’d probably been just ahead of him, watching from the shadows as he grew more and more desperate. All that time Sam had been suffering because she thought he might _attempt_ to kill her.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” he stated. He couldn’t say wouldn’t though.

“I know. Now, tell me more. Your brother is in Hell?”

“With Lucifer.”

“Hmm, Lucifer. I remember him.” Her tone was undeniably bitter. “And he has your brother trapped”

“Yeah, and we have to get him out. He’s going to destroy Sam.”

She nodded slowly. “I will help you…”

“Thank you,” Dean said fervently. “Thank you so much.”

“…on one condition,” she continued.

“Anything,” Dean said without thought.

“Tell me how he came to be trapped.”

Dean looked into her fathomless eyes and knew that she wasn’t asking for information. She already knew the answer. She was asking because she wanted to see if he would tell her the truth. There was no guarantee she’d help if he was honest, but he was almost certain that she would not if he lied.

Dean swallowed hard. “We went to him for help.”

“Help with what?”

“You,” Dean said. “We were scared of what you were going to do to the world. We thought we had to stop you before you could hurt more people. We thought you were going to end it all, and we knew Lucifer had helped God trap you before.”

She smiled slightly. “Do you still think that now?”

“Yes,” Dean replied honestly.

“And you want to work with me anyway. You must love your brother very much.”

Dean didn’t reply.

She drew a breath and looked out over the lake. “I expected you to try at least. You’re a warrior, I told you that before. Of course you see me as a threat. It makes sense that you think you have to stop me. You don’t understand me, Dean. But you will. Coming to me now for help is the first step.”

“You’ll help me?” Dean asked.

“I will. I told you I would.”

Dean closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “We have to do it fast, and we can’t let Lucifer out. He has to stay in the cage, or it’ll all be for nothing.” The whole world would be destroyed.

Her expression remained serene. “That is not a problem for me. I will go to him now. Would you like me to bring him here or is there another place for you?”

“Wait!” Dean said loudly, afraid she would leave already. “You can’t go alone.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You can’t come with me. It’s far too dangerous.”

Dean took a breath, held it for a beat to calm himself and come at it rationally, and then said, “You need me to come. Lucifer isn’t going to step aside and let you just pull Sam out. You need me to get Sam out while you deal with him. And I need Cas.”

“Cas?”

“Castiel. He’s an angel. Not one of the ones that came after you, but he’s got a halo. He’s good though, family, and Sam will need him, too.”

“This will be very dangerous,” she said.

Dean locked eyes with her. “You’re God’s sister.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I am.”

“So you can make sure we make it out okay.”

She sighed and nodded. Dean wasn’t sure what exactly her reluctance was, as she surely had the power to keep him, Cas _and_ Sam safe. Dean needed to be there and he needed Castiel with him. They _were_ family, and it was family Sam needed to see coming to get him out. Dean didn’t know the details of what had happened to him while he was in Lucifer’s clutches, but he knew it was something Sam was going to need help coming through. He wanted to be there from the very first moment to give him that help.

“I will not kill the angel,” she mildly, “and I will free your brother.”

“And you’ll take me along?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Amara. Really. I don’t even…”

She smiled. “I know.”

xXx

Dean’s mind was racing ahead of him when he pulled the car to a stop outside the asylum that Crowley had made his lair. He was so close to Sam now, and soon he would have him out. The journey he had made there alone would be shared with his brother.

Castiel met him at the end of the road that lead to the asylum, standing beside the stolen car he had used to drive from their motel a few towns over. Dean saw he’d had the foresight to bring their duffels with him. That pleased Dean as they could leave straight for the bunker when they got Sam out. Sam would need to be somewhere familiar, home, even if he didn’t see it as that.

“Where is The Darkness?” Castiel asked.

“I am here,” Amara said, appearing behind him.

Castiel started comically and turned to face her. He didn’t speak, but Dean thought it was more about fear than it was rudeness.

“Amara, this is Cas,” Dean said, and when Amara’s lips pressed into a thin line, he added, “Don’t kill him.”

She looked amused. “Are we ready?”

“More than ready,” Dean said, pulling the demon knife from his pocket and nodding approvingly when Castiel slid his own blade into his hand.

Amara led them up the path to the door of the asylum, her head held high. When they came to the door, she just pushed and it banged open. There were scuffling footsteps and Dean caught sight of a demon running away from them along the hall. Amara stopped and flung out a hand. The demon skidded to a stop, arms pinwheeling, and then slid backward on the stone floor toward them as Amara drew back her hand. When he was a few feet away, Amara grabbed his shoulders, turned him, and gripped his chin. She tilted his head back and then leaned close with her mouth open. The black smoke poured out of the demon’s mouth and into hers. Castiel shifted uncomfortably at his side, but Dean watched impassively. If she needed a snack to power her up a little more, so be it.

When the smoke ceased, Amara released the body and it dropped to the floor. She stepped over it and continued down the hall.

“Brown,” a familiar voice called from behind the door, “is there a problem?”

Amara flung open the door and stepped into the larger room where Crowley held court. “No problem, Crowley,” she said serenely. “Just a visit.”

Crowley visibly paled. “Amara, good to see you. I don’t think you’ve met my mother.”

“Amara,” Rowena whispered, getting slowly to her feet and bowing slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly at last. You know, I am sure, that I played my part in your freedom, and I just want to say how happy I was that I could do that for you, and how I am more than willing—“

“Leave,” Amara said loftily.

“Of course,” Rowena squeaked, without a trace of her usual confidence. She ran as fast as her tight gown would allow down the hall they’d entered and through a side door.

Crowley watched her go and then turned back to Amara. “Thank you. I have been telling the pestilential pest to bugger off for weeks now and she insists on hanging around like the proverbial bad penny. I owe you. Anything you want.” His voice softened, became almost nervous. “What is it that you do want?”

“Not your head. Yet.” she said simply.

Crowley looked relieved and tugged his collar. “Okay then. From the presence of Squirrel and his side-kick pigeon, I’m assuming Moose is the order of the day.”

Amara frowned. “What?”

“You’re here for Sam,” Crowley clarified.

“Yes. We want passage to Hell to wherever this cage is housed.”

“Can do,” Crowley said, his voice strained. “It’s just… Did they tell you who else is in that cage? I ask because Lucifer is not my number one fan. Or anyone’s fan really. If he gets out… It’s really best not to imagine.”

Amara frowned. “Are you suggesting that he _will_ best me?” she asked. “Do you not think I am a match for an _archangel_?” She infected the word with derision.

“Course you are,” Crowley said quickly. “Sorry. Didn’t think. No one is a match for you. Naturally.”

As much as Dean was enjoying seeing Crowley scrabbling around for words that would not piss Amara off, he wanted to get it over with so he could get to his brother. Sam needed him.

“Amara,” he said hesitantly.

“Enough,” she said loudly, cutting through Crowley’s complimentary babble. “Take us to Hell. Now.”

“Yep. Sure.” Crowley nodded vigorously. “One trip to Hell, coming up.” He glanced at Castiel and a sly smile crept across his lips, “You know, I remember when you were plucking Dean out of Hell, not following him back in. My how things have changed.”

“Crowley,” Amara said in a warning tone.

“Yep. Hell. Here we go.” He got to his feet and led them through a door behind the throne. Amara strode after him and after a moment to brace himself, Dean followed.

xXx

The journey through Hell seemed to take forever. Now he was so close to getting Sam out, Dean felt that every minute was a lifetime. He was hyperaware that Sam was waiting for him at the end of the journey, suffering in ways he didn’t even want to think about.

The sounds that he hadn’t heard properly before, the shrieks, screams and howls of pain, taunted him as he knew at the end of the passage, Sam could be making those noises, too. Castiel seemed to sense his pain, as he walked at his side and murmured, “We’re close now, Dean. We’ll be there soon.”

And then they were there. Crowley came to a stop at the point Dean recognized from before, but instead of stopping with him, he rushed past and into the cavern that housed the cage.

The bars were shrouded by smoke still, but even as Dean rushed towards it, shouting his brother’s name, it began to thin in one spot. Hands were wrapped around the bars, but they weren’t Sam’s. It was Lucifer. As Dean got closer, he came into view.

“Dean,” he said conversationally, “good to see you. We wondered when you’d show up again. It’s been too…” He trailed off and Dean was sure he knew why. Amara was right behind him. “Well, this should be interesting,” he said.

“Lucifer,” Amara said, her tone neutral.

“It’s been an age,” Lucifer said.

Amara nodded.

“I assume you’re here for my bunk buddy.”

“I am here for Sam,” she said. “You will free him.”

“I would,” Lucifer said, “but I just… don’t want to.”

“Amara,” Dean breathed. “Please.” He needed her to act already. He needed Sam out. He needed it like he needed air.

She stepped close to the cage. “Only when I say,” she said softly to Dean.

Dean nodded and Castiel moved to his side. They were ready.

Amara raised her hands and gripped the bars of the cage. She pulled them apart slowly, and they curved and bent, opening a hole. Lucifer rushed at it and he held Dean’s focus for a moment, but then the smoke disappeared and the subject of their mission was revealed. Sam was sitting on the floor of the cage, curled into a tight ball. Dean rushed toward him, barely conscious of the fact his path was clear, into the cage. The temperature immediately dropped to freezing, and the stone floor was icy against his knees when he dropped to them beside Sam.

“Sam! Sammy!” he gasped, taking it all in with his stunned and terrified gaze: the slashes in the fabric of Sam’s shirt, the bloodstains, the wounds and Sam’s lack of reaction to his voice. He grabbed Sam’s face and forcefully tilted his head up to meet his gaze. Sam’s eyes were open, but they were blank, unaware, his pupils dilated.

“Sam!” he growled, shaking him roughly. “Look at me.”

He saw awareness return to Sam. He shuddered as his pupils shrank to their usual size and his eyes widened. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said, wide smile in place. “I’m here.”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder and Dean turned, too. Amara had Lucifer caught in her grip. He was pinned to the side of the cage, and he was spitting and snarling, struggling desperately to be freed.

“What did you do?” Sam breathed.

“Get him out, Dean,” Amara shouted, her voice strained.

Dean turned back to Sam who was still staring transfixed at Amara and Lucifer’s struggle. “Come on, Sammy,” he said gently, drawing Sam’s attention back to him.

Castiel appeared on Sam’s other side and lifted Sam bodily to his feet with a hand under his shoulders. Sam swayed and Dean curled an arm around his back, supporting him as Sam leaned heavily against him. Castiel half led, half dragged them toward the hole in the bars. Dean felt a blast of heat sweeping over him as he exited the cage, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Castiel carried on dragging them along the path out of Hell, but Sam started to lag and stumble, and Dean called him to a stop. “Give him a minute, Cas,” he said.

Castiel looked reluctant, but he let them stop and supported Sam as he leaned heavily against him.

“You okay, Sam?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded, his eyes squeezed shut and his forehead creased.

Dean moved to stand in front of him and gripped his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said bracingly. “You’re out.”

“I’m out,” Sam said weakly.

He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, and Dean reacted instinctively. He could see the doubt still in Sam’s eyes and he wanted to reassure him. He pulled him against his chest and threw his arms around him. He felt Sam breathe out shakily, almost a laugh, and Dean squeezed him tighter.

“Out, Sam!”

“He will never be out!” Lucifer shouted behind them. Over Sam’s shoulder, Dean could see Amara walking away from the Cage. The bars were bent back into the perfect shape they had been before. Through them he could see Lucifer’s furious face. As Dean watched, Lucifer reached an arm out through the bars and shouted, “This is not the end. Take him if you like, but know that now he will always belong to me. Do you hear that, Sam? You are mine!”

Sam made a sound in his throat that Dean was reluctant to call a whimper and collapsed against Dean’s chest, his head falling onto Dean’s shoulder. “Sam!” Dean said harshly, but Sam didn’t respond. He was unconscious. “Okay,” Dean said, patting his back. “You’re okay. Just take a minute. I’m here.”

“We have to get out of here,” Castiel said, reaching for Sam.

Dean nodded and eased Sam into the angel’s grip. Castiel lifted him against his chest. Casting glances back every few seconds to check on his brother, Dean led them out of Hell.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the ground for Sam to lie on. “Set him down here,” he said.

Castiel eased Sam down on to the jacket and Dean pillowed Sam’s head on his knees. Castiel took off his own coat and draped it over Sam who was shaking slightly in the cool air. The jacket he had been wearing when Dean had left him, before Hell, was gone, and the shirt he wore was in tatters. Dean unbuttoned it and slid it away from his chest. Without the fabric concealing them, the wounds looked worse than they had before. They were seeping blood, and some looked deep.

“Cas,” Dean said quietly, “can you do anything?”

“I can try,” Castiel said. He laid a hand on Sam’s forehead and closed his eyes. Dean could see the strain in his face as the light spilled from his palm. He looked away, not wanting to think on what that strain could mean for his friend or brother, and fixed his eyes on the wounds—the still very much present wounds.

Castiel’s hand dropped to his side again and he breathed in heavily.

“Is that it?” Dean asked.

“I’ve managed to stop the bleeding,” Castiel said.

“And that’s all you can do?”

“For now, yes.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean said stridently.

“These are not ordinary injuries,” he said patiently. “Sam’s hell is not like the Hell you experienced. You were tortured by a demon with demonic means. Lucifer had no weapon in that cage but his grace. He manifested that in the form of a blade for Sam, much like I manifest mine in my angel sword.”

“You’re telling me these come from Lucifer’s _grace?_ ” He waved a hand at Sam’s wounded chest.

“Yes,” Castiel said simply.

“Will you ever be able to heal them?” Dean asked in a strained tone.

“I think so,” Castiel said. “In time.”

Dean looked down at Sam’s impassive face and he grimaced. He was messed up, seriously messed up.

“We should move him,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. He didn’t like to see Sam on the ground outside Crowley’s place. He wanted him somewhere safe, somewhere comfortable, somewhere warm.

xXx

“Anything?” Dean asked, his tone harsh with worry.

“No,” Castiel said beside him. “He’s still unconscious.”

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror anyway. It wasn’t that he thought Castiel would lie to him about something as important as this, it was that he could believe no one when it came down to Sam’s wellbeing. Also, it reassured him slightly to be able to look back and see Sam, unconscious, battered and bloody, but there. The blood would be washed away and Castiel could heal the wounds given enough time. The only thing out of their control was Sam’s unconsciousness.

“Can you wake him up?” Dean asked. “Can’t you, I don’t know, mojo him awake?”

“No.”

Dean glared at him for a moment and then checked the rear-view once again. There was no change. “Why not?” he asked slowly.

“Because I believe it would damage Sam irreparably to have another angel manipulating him after all he has been through. This isn’t sleep, Dean, or even ordinary unconsciousness. His mind has closed down.”

Sick fear curdled in Dean’s gut. “His soul?” he asked tremulously.

“I don’t know the state of his soul. I cannot know that without touching it.”

“You’re not doing that!” Dean said quickly.

“I didn’t say I would. I am trying to explain. Sam is in shock. I _believe_ his mind has shut down to protect him. I do not believe his soul is the cause of his unresponsiveness.”

“You can’t be sure though.”

“No, but he spoke. He knew you. And he whimpered.”

Dean remembered. He hated how such a pathetic sound had escaped his brother. His fear of the archangel was enough to bring him that low.

“He is not beyond our reach,” Castiel said. “He is still there. He just needs to feel safe.”

So they needed to get him somewhere Sam would associate with safety. The Impala wasn’t it. Despite it having the sounds and smells of home to Sam, they were driving, and Sam wouldn’t be able to tell whether it was driving to safety or fleeing danger. The bunker would be best, but that was a full day’s drive away, and Dean wasn’t dragging him that far curled on the backseat. He couldn’t wait that long either. He needed to talk to Sam, to reassure him he was out and it was okay before they made that journey.

“A motel,” Dean decided.

“He’ll feel safe in a motel?” Castiel said in a musing tone. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

And then Dean could take care of his injuries. He wanted them covered and cleaned up. That was something he could do that would make him feel useful. It would help Sam, too. That was what he wanted more than anything, a way to help Sam, because Dean knew deep down this wasn’t something that was going to be fixed by a few bandages and reassuring words. It couldn’t be, because Sam had been to Hell.

xXx

Dean drove past two motels before finding one that looked halfway decent. He didn’t want Sam getting infection in his wounds from dirty sheets, nor did he want him waking up in a place that rented rooms by the hour. He deserved better.

He pulled the car to a stop in the lot and told Castiel to stay with Sam while he checked them in. It felt wrong to leave Sam, even for a minute. Dean cast him a quick glance before hurrying into the motel office.

The clerk was reading a magazine, and he looked up only reluctantly when Dean tapped the counter. “Can I help you?” he asked, making the question sound almost like an insult.

“I need a double,” Dean said quickly.

“Hot date?”

Dean slapped his credit card down. “Now!”

The clerk rolled his eyes and checked something on the ancient computer before running Dean’s card and handing him a room key. “Room twelve,” he said. “On the end of the block.”

Dean didn’t bother thanking him. He strode from the office and back to the car.

Castiel was leaning over the front seat, speaking to Sam, even though Sam seemed just as out of it as he had been when Dean left them a few minutes ago. Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying, and Castiel trailed off when Dean opened the door by Sam’s head and asked hopefully, “Any change?”

“None,” Castiel replied solemnly.

Swallowing down his disappointment, Dean looped his hands under Sam’s shoulders and began to ease him out of the car. Castiel came around to help, and between them, they got Sam into Castiel’s hold again. Dean hurried ahead and unlocked the door to their room.

It was better than he hoped inside. The bedding looked clean and the carpet was missing the suspicious stains they were used to in their motel rooms.

Dean hurried to the bed and pulled back the blankets. Castiel laid Sam down gently and stepped back.

“Green duffel in the trunk,” Dean said. “It’s got the first aid supplies.”

He tossed Castiel the keys and he caught them and left the room. He was only gone a moment, long enough for Dean to open his mouth a few times with intentions of talking to Sam, but finding nothing to say. Castiel came back into the room and handed Dean the duffel. He set it down on the bed and pulled the ties that held it closed. There was a comprehensive kit in there, but Dean knew at once that there wasn’t nearly enough gauze and tape for all of Sam’s wounds.

“You good for a drive, Cas?” he asked.

Castiel frowned. “Where am I going?”

“We need supplies.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up a search engine. A few taps later he had the address of a drug store a few blocks away. He handed the phone to Castiel along with his wallet, “I need bandages, tape and gauze pads.”

Castiel nodded. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, turning his attention to Sam again.

The door clicked open, closed, and Dean sighed. “Okay, Sammy, just you and me again.”

He took a pair of scissors from the bag and cut along the back of Sam’s shirt. He eased away the fabric from the wounds and hissed between his teeth. Sam’s back was more wrecked than his chest had been.

“It’s not so bad,” he said bracingly, speaking to himself and Sam, though he wasn’t entirely sure the latter could hear him.

He set out the things he would need on the bedside table and grimaced as he picked up the hydrogen peroxide. For once he was grateful Sam was still out, because this would hurt like a bastard. Gritting his teeth, as though he was the one that was going to feel the burn, he poured it over Sam’s back. The wounds hissed and bubbled.

He almost expected Sam to wake, but he didn’t flinch or groan. There was no noticeable reaction. Dean patted his shoulder, one of the few places that were without a wound. “Sorry, Sammy.”

He used some of the gauze to wipe away the excess fluid and the dried blood that the hydrogen peroxide liquified.

The actions of cleaning the wounds, laying the gauze over them and taping it in place were familiar. Doing it for Sam was familiar. Doing it to him when he didn’t flinch was not. Even unconscious, as he had been a few times before, Sam flinched away from the pain. He didn’t react at all now. It worried Dean.

As he worked, he talked. He apologized each time he touched a wound. He reassured Sam, telling him it was almost over and that he would be okay. He only stopped talking when the door clicked open again and Castiel entered, a sack in his arms.

“I got as much as I was able,” he said, “it should be… Dean!”

“What” Dean asked.

“He’s awake.”

Dean raced around the bed. Sam’s open eyes were bloodshot and wet, and fixed on his hands which were clasped in front of him, clenching and unclenching. It took a moment for Dean to recognize the once familiar action. Sam was pressing down on his scar.

“No!” he said harshly. Not again. “Sam, listen to me! You’re back You’re out.”

Sam’s eyes drifted up to Dean and he frowned. “Out?”

“Out,” Dean said emphatically. “I swear. Look.” Hating what he was doing, loathing it, Dean laid a hand on one of the gashes on Sam’s chest. He pressed down, not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to hurt.

“You feel that?” he asked.

The tear that slipped from Sam’s eye was answer enough.

“Different, right?”

“Yes.” He sounded blissfully relieved.

Dean nodded. “You’re out. It’s real. I’m real. Cas is real.” He leaned back so Sam could see Castiel stood behind him.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said, a smile in his voice.

“Hey, Cas.”

Sam pushed himself up on the bed, wincing slightly. Dean was amazed he wasn’t crying in pain. Dean wanted to as he saw the skin around the wounds stretch and pull. Sam looked down at his chest and grimaced. “Bastard.”

“Agreed,” Dean said. “Cas is going to fix them up as soon as he can, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said. He drew a breath and locked eyes with Dean again. “How did you do it?”

There was no doubting what he meant. What other question could be forefront in Sam’s mind in that moment.

“Amara,” Dean said.

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “Dammit, Dean.”

“No,” Dean said brutally. “You don’t get to be pissed about this. I went to her because I had no choice. You were in _Hell_ , and I couldn’t leave you there.”

“But…”

“Don’t pretend, Sam. Don’t pretend you would have done anything different if our roles were reversed. I got you out. Lucifer is still in there and you’re out. It was worth it, understand?”

Sam nodded and drew a breath. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean laid a hand on his uninjured shoulder and squeezed. “Welcome. Now, let’s get you cleaned up so you can get some sleep. Unconsciousness does not equal nap.”

“Yeah,” Sam said wearily. “Sleep sounds good.”

Dean held out a hand and Castiel handed him the sack of dressings, then came around to sit on the edge of the bed beside Sam.

“Are you okay, Sam?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said quickly. “I’m fine.”

Dean knew he was lying. He couldn’t possibly be fine after what he’d been through, but he would be. Dean had him back and he would deal with whatever came next, be it Sam or Amara, because that was what he did. Dean dealt.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_ **

 

Sam did sleep. When Dean finished patching up his wounds, he lay down again on his side, drew his knees up slightly and fell asleep almost at once.

Dean didn’t want to watch him, that was creepy and wrong, but he couldn’t help his eyes drifting over every few minutes to check on him, even though he could tell from Sam’s breaths that he was peaceful. Castiel had no such compunctions about watching. He took a seat at the small table by the window and fixed his eyes on Sam.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face and said in a harsh whisper, “Hey! No staring. Thought we broke that habit.”

Castiel shook his head slowly and turned his stare on Dean. “Someone should watch over him.”

“Someone is me.”

“You will be asleep soon, too.” Castiel said.

Dean stifled a yawn tempted out by the word _sleep_. He was exhausted. He wasn’t even sure when he’d last slept, but it had been a while. He definitely couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept really peacefully. It was before the cage and Lucifer, possibly before the Mark. There were _always_ things in his dreams ready to disturb his attempts at rest.

“I won’t,” he said doggedly. “Sam needs me.”

“He does,” Castiel said solemnly.

Dean frowned at him. It wasn’t like he was expecting Castiel to argue, but the weight he gave the words worried him. Sure, Sam needed help. He needed it from both of them, Dean and Castiel—what was left of their family. He had been to, and through, hell with Lucifer. The wounds were just the start of the problem; they would heal. It was the psychological scars Sam was left with that worried Dean most. How were they going to get him through them?

“What are thinking, Cas?” he asked. “Are you getting something from him that I’m not?” He wondered if Castiel’s angelic insight had tipped Cas off to something that he’d missed.

Castiel shook his head. “No. I am just thinking of how things have been before.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Are you lying to me? Because this is Sam. If there’s something I should know, and you’re not telling me…” He allowed the threat to illustrate itself in his silence.

“I know nothing that you don’t already,” Castiel said.

Dean’s eyes drifted over to Sam again and his brow furrowed. Sure, Sam looked peaceful enough now, but who knew what the morning would bring? Dean had no choice but to wait it out. To see how Sam woke and what followed.

xXx

Dean hadn’t intended to, but he fell asleep anyway under his exhaustion. He woke in slow increments, as if he was pushing back against a wall of weariness. Thoughts came to him— _Sam. Lucifer. Hell. Amara. Castiel. Crowley. Rowena. Help—_ and his struggle against sleep became more desperate.

“Sam,” he moaned.

“He is here,” Castiel said.

Dean’s eyes flashed open and fell upon the angel by the window. “What?”

Castiel looked past him to the second bed, and Dean’s gaze followed his. He breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was there. Curled into a ball under the bedclothes, his eyes closed and his breaths steady. Sam was sleeping.

“Sam.” The name was a reassurance and confirmation. He was out. Of course he was out. They’d got him out. Amara, Dean, and Cas, they’d gone into the pit and the cage itself together to free him. He was back. He looked back to Castiel. “He sleep okay?”

Castiel considered his answer. “He stirred a few hours ago with a nightmare. I helped to dispel it and he has slept peacefully since.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and eased himself to his feet. His muscles felt stiff and uncooperative. “How long was I out?” he asked.

“Approximately ten hours.”

“Damn,” Dean said quietly. For someone that usually got through on four hours a night that was a helluva lot of sleep. Still, he had apparently not missed anything Castiel couldn’t handle. He had to remind himself that he needed to do that—let Castiel help. As little as he wanted to admit it, there were things Castiel could do that Dean couldn’t. Reassuring Sam, being there for him, talking him through a nightmare, Dean could do. Actually dispelling that nightmare wasn’t on Dean’s skills set.

“I’m going to shower,” he said. “You think you can watch him a little longer?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and Dean almost smiled. After ten hours watching Sam, he could handle another fifteen minutes.

Castiel must have left them for at least a moment in the night, as Dean’s and Sam’s duffels were on the table. Dean wanted to be pissed about that—What if Sam had needed him?—but the lure of a shower and clean clothes was more powerful.

He grabbed what he needed from his bag and went into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open so he could hear if they needed him.

He showered quickly and then hesitated with his wash kit in his hand, wondering whether to shave or not. It had been a while, and he had a healthy scruff, but he wanted to get back to Sam. He listened for a moment, checking to see if he could hear anything from the room, but all was quiet, so he figured they would be okay a little longer. Also, it would serve a dual purpose. As well as cleaning him up, it would show Sam that he hadn’t spent the night staring at him. Showering and shaving were normal daily actions. They would reinforce the fact to Sam that things were okay. They were going on as usual.

He was half done when he heard voices in the room. He almost rushed straight in, half finished, but he held himself back. Racing in there with a half shaved face wasn’t going to do anything to show Sam things were okay. He forced himself to finish before packing up his kit and leaving the bathroom.

Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, the blankets pooled around him as if to ward of the nonexistent chill of the room.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Hey,” Sam said casually. “Hope you left me some hot water.”

Dean grinned. “May have left you enough to shower, but you’re going to have to go without your girly shampoo and conditioner masque routine.”

“You’re a jerk,” Sam said.

It could have been any other morning in any other motel in the country. It was normal and familiar. It was good.

“Yep,” he said with relish.

“I think I will need to help you, Sam,” Castiel said.

Sam looked amused. “No offence, Cas, but you’re not coming in there with me.”

Castiel’s lips quirked into a smile. “I meant your wounds.”

And the perfect bubble of normality was burst. Sam couldn’t shower when he was still cut the hell up. But he would need to. He was bloody and could probably smell the sulfur clinging to his skin from his time in the pit, strong only to his senses.

Sam peeled back the edge of one of the makeshift dressings and frowned. “Oh.”

“I can perhaps close them enough that you can clean up if you’re careful,” Castiel said.

“Yeah? That’d be great.”

Castiel moved to stand in front of Sam and said, “This may sting a little.” He pressed his hand to Sam’s forehead and light spilled from his palm. It was over in a second, but Dean saw Sam’s wince and Castiel’s strained look before he stepped back.

Sam peeled back the dressing all the way and Dean saw scabbed, healing skin beneath. It looked like the wound was a week old at least.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, standing and setting to work removing the rest of the dressings.

Dean let him get his chest cleared and then he made him lean forward slightly so he could uncover his back. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, too stressed and eager to hide the wounds from his eyes he supposed, but they were in patterns in places. It was as if Lucifer had used the blade as a paintbrush and made art of Sam’s skin.

He had to swallow down bile.

“Okay. You’re done,” he said, balling up the last pad and gauze. “Get yourself beautified, but remember, soak don’t scrub. Some of these look really fragile still.”

Sam picked up his duffel and carried it through to the bathroom, clicking the door closed behind him.

Dean sat down at the table and smiled, satisfied. All in all, things were better than he could have hoped for the night before, when Sam had been pressing down on that scar, trying to make out whether what was happening was real. He seemed okay. He was talking and joking, and smiling. There was no wall this time, no buffer between Sam and the memories of what he’d been through and he was acting like it was a normal day. Maybe things were going to be easier than he’d thought after all.

xXx

As soon as Sam got into the privacy of the bathroom, he let his smile fade and the frown take its place. It had been hard to stay normal with Dean and Castiel, to act like it was any other day, even though it had been more than worth it. Dean had needed it, that was obvious from the relief in his eyes when Sam had played along. He would do it every day until his mind finally calmed and accepted that he was okay now, Lucifer was gone, and he was never going back. It wouldn’t last forever. He just needed a little time to wrap his head around freedom again.

He gripped the sides of the basin and stared into the mirror. He looked okay, despite the frown. A little pale maybe, pallor that accentuated the shadows under his eyes, but without view of his chest wounds, he could get away with looking like he was recovering from flu. That was better than it could have been. When he was dressed there would be no physical signs of Hell left. Unless you looked deep into his eyes. That’s where the real shadows were. He curved his lips into a smile again. That was better. It didn’t even look like he was faking it, and it drew attention away from his eyes. He was practiced at it. A few years ago, when Bobby was dead, Castiel gone and Leviathans wreaking havoc, it had been that smile that had reassured Dean he was still clinging to sanity when it was long gone.

Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and set the water to running. Though he wanted it scalding, to burn away the feeling of what had happened, he knew that would just rip apart Castiel’s work on his wounds. He set it to tepid and stepped under the spray. It felt good, even at the pathetic temperature. He watched it wash away the blood from his chest. He felt better, cleaner, less tainted by Hell and Lucifer. It almost felt as though he was washing away some of the…

Sam gasped back to the moment. His hands were pressed flat against the tile of the shower wall and his head was bowed. He had no memory of the movements that had brought him to that pose. Something had happened, and he didn’t know what.

“Sam! Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was harsh, worried, and just outside the door. He had heard something. Had Sam moaned? Cried out? Or was it just the sound of his hands slapping down that had alerted him to something being wrong?

“Yeah,” Sam said automatically. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Skidded on the soap,” Sam lied easily. He didn’t want to, but it was better than admitting that he had no idea what had happened to him.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly, doubtfully. “Be more careful.”

“Sure.”

He heard Dean’s footsteps moving away from the door and he huffed out a breath. His mind wanted to linger on what had happened, to make sense of it, but he refused to let it. He didn’t want to examine it too carefully for fear of what he might learn.

xXx

When Sam got out of the bathroom, Dean and Castiel were talking about where they could get some food.

“You need to eat,” Dean said to Sam as he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a towel through his wet hair.

“You _both_ need to eat,” Castiel said pointedly. The way he looked at Dean made it clear he hadn’t been taking care of himself while Sam was gone. Sam understood.

Dean leaned back in his seat and rubbed his stomach. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Sam wondered how long it had been between meals for them both. He frowned. He had no idea how much time he’d missed. Weeks had to have passed, years of Hell time, but how many?

“You okay, Sam?” Dean asked.

“How long was I… there?” Sam asked.

Dean’s eyes tightened. “Two months altogether.”

Sam nodded, as if Dean had reported the weather forecast not the length of his sentence in Hell. Twenty years of Lucifer.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly. “We started looking for a way out as soon as we knew you were gone, but it took us that long to find her.”

“The Darkness,” Sam said. “It was her, right?”

Things about his actual rescue were vague, but he thought he heard a woman’s voice, and a face tangled with Lucifer’s in his mind.

“Yes. It was Amara.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. The way Dean said it, like it was nothing that he had made a deal with the most powerful force they’d ever faced. What was this going to cost them? What was it going to cost the world? How many were going to die because of Sam this time?

God, how much blood could he stand to have on his hands? And whose? Kevin’s had literally been put there by Gadreel. Charlie’s was all on Sam for dragging her in. Hell, he’d even killed Castiel. Lucifer had snapped Sam’s fingers and killed him. Just because God had brought him back, it didn’t excuse what had happened. They were people he loved that were dead. How many other nameless, faceless people were there from the apocalypse?

“Sam!” There was a hand on his shoulder and Dean was in his face. “You okay?”

Sam pulled back and Dean’s hand dropped to his side again. “Dammit, Dean,” he growled. “Why did you do it?”

“No!” Dean said harshly, stepping back, away from Sam. “You can’t be pissed. You don’t get to be pissed about this. I got you _out_ , Sam. You were in Hell with the Devil, and I got you out!”

“Yes, I get that,” Sam started, but Dean spoke over him.

“After what happened last time, what it did to you, I had to do it. Maybe there was another way. Maybe given enough time I could have got Rowena on side to help us. I didn’t have time though, and I couldn’t see a way to do it without letting Lucifer out, too, so I went to the biggest badass I knew, the one I thought had a chance at doing it clear, and I got you out!”

“At what cost, Dean?” Sam asked, getting to his feet and advancing on him. “What was the deal this time?”

“Nothing!” Dean said quickly. “There was no deal.”

Sam scoffed. “You telling me The Darkness wanted nothing in return?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Sam looked at Castiel, ready to get the truth from him instead of his brother, but Castiel was nodding. “It’s true, Sam. She didn’t seem to want anything.”

“Then why did she do it?” Sam asked.

Castiel shrugged. “We do not know. Let’s be grateful she did.”

“So she hasn’t come up with anything yet,” Sam said. “We still owe her, and I guarantee she’s going to come to collect. What are we going to do when she does?”

“Don’t pretend you would have done anything different,” Dean said quietly. “Remember what you did when I was in the Pit.”

“That was a long time ago. We’ve learned since then.”

Dean laughed harshly. “Using Rowena and The Book of the Damned was learning, was it? Face it Sam, not six months ago you were willing to do _anything_ to save me from the Mark. I did what I had to do and I did it without a deal of any kind.”

Sam wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn’t. Dean was right. He had done stupid shit to save his brother, and he would do stupid shit again if he needed to. He couldn’t blame Dean for what he himself had done more than once.

“Fine,” he said, slumping down on the edge of the bed again. “But when this comes back to bite us on the ass…”

“You can say I told you so all you like,” Dean said with something close to a smile.

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired, miserable, and just about done with it all. He wanted to eat then head back to the bunker where he could rest and come to terms with all this in peace and something close to safety.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Castiel asked solicitously.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m fine,” Sam lied.

In the back of Sam’s mind he hear familiar, cold laughter.

Lucifer.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine** _

Dean suspected Sam could have gone a few more rounds on the Amara discussion, but when it drew to a close he seemed to sag, exhausted where he sat. His eyes were distant, and Dean had to say his name twice before he could get his attention.

"What?" Sam asked blearily.

"We've got to get food in you before you crash," Dean said. "Okay?"

Sam nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah. I know. I just…"

"You're still exhausted," Dean said. "You will be. You're healing." Physically from a couple dozen slashes front and back. Mentally from twenty years of Lucifer and the Cage. Yeah, Sam needed rest. "I'll go get us some food and then you can crash again."

As much as Dean wanted to get him back to the bunker where he could rest and heal in peace, he thought Castiel should have another attempt at clearing up the wounds before then. A two day drive wasn't fun at the best of times, but sore and itchy would make it Hell. Again.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked.

"Whatever," Sam said vaguely.

Dean frowned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Dean could tell he was lying because he _knew_ his brother, but he figured he was just sucking it up and getting on with it when what he really wanted was sleep and a few years peace to get over what had happened. Dean couldn't deliver the years of peace, but he could feed him and let him sleep.

"Want anything, Cas?" Dean asked.

"No, thank you."

"Molecules, right, Cas?" Sam said with a smile.

Dean frowned then shrugged it off, figuring it was some weird-ass science joke he wouldn't find funny even if he did get it. He pulled on his jacket and with a wave of the hand exited the motel.

It felt wrong as soon as the door closed behind him. As if he'd left something vital behind in that room. A voice whispered in his mind, his own, worried, voice, _"Are you seriously going to leave him alone?"_

He shook his head briskly. Sam would be fine. Castiel was with him. Nothing was going to happen. Last time was different. Sam wasn't going to leave the room in the short amount of time Dean would be gone, he wasn't going to do anything more strenuous than sit his ass down on that bed and talk to Castiel. Dean put one foot in front of the other and kept moving away from the motel.

While Sam was in the bathroom and they'd been talking about their next step, Castiel had told him there was a diner near the drug store he'd visited, so he directed his path in that direction. It was early evening again, a full day since Amara had found him by the lake. People were walking home from work, and when he found the diner, it was busy.

Dean went in and made for the counter. There was a tri-fold plastic menu that he picked up and perused. Sam had said whatever, and that usually meant some form of whatever rabbit food was on offer, but Dean thought maybe they should go a little easy on his stomach. It had been two decades between snacks after all.

"Can I help you?" a voice asked.

Dean looked up. There was a woman waiting patiently for his order with a notepad in hand. She looked to be a few years younger than Dean, blonde hair and full lips, and she was wearing a cute pink uniform. On any other day Dean would have made it a mission to talk, flirt, make a move even, but it wasn't any other day.

"Can I get a bacon-cheeseburger and fries, and a chicken noodle soup to go, please?"

She beamed at him. "Sure." She handed a sheet of her pad through the service window and came back to stand in front of him. "Chicken noodle soup and a cheeseburger? That's an interesting combination."

"It's for my brother," Dean said. "He's been sick."

"Poor guy. Nothing serious, I hope."

"It was," Dean said honestly. "But he's turned a corner. He'll be fine now."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

A man in a grey business suit came to the counter and the waitress left Dean to serve him. Dean looked around the diner, no different to any of the countless ones he had been in over the course of his life, and wondered why this one felt different. Was it just the fact he wanted to be back at the motel with Sam already, or were his hunter senses picking up something else? He couldn't be sure, and he waited impatiently for his order so he could get out of there to work it out.

After what seemed like an inordinately long time, his order arrived. He paid and carried it out, relieved to be in motion again.

He got a hundred yards from the diner when he felt it: a hum in the air like distant music. He looked up and down the street for a sign of her. He couldn't see her, but he was sure she was there.

"Amara?" he said.

"Hello, Dean."

He spun on his heel. She was standing behind him, though she hadn't been there a second ago, not visibly at least.

"You follow me around often?" he asked.

"You know I don't. You would feel me if I did. You and I are—"

"Connected, yeah," Dean said briskly. "I remember. Do you need something?" The idea occurred to him that she could be there to collect as Sam seemed so certain she would.

She frowned. "How fast you change. You were very pleased to see me before. And before that"—she leaned in close—"you were more than happy to be with me."

"I'm sorry," Dean said automatically. "I just want to get back to Sam."

"Yes. Family," she said in a musing voice. "That is why I sought you out. I was curious about him."

"He's fine," Dean said. "He'll be fine."

"I'm glad," she said smoothly.

Dean cleared his throat. "Thank you, Amara, for helping us, for getting him out."

She smiled widely, seeming genuinely pleased at his thanks. "I will always help you."

"Uh, thanks," Dean said again awkwardly. "Look, I really have got to get back to him. He's okay, but he needs food."

She nodded and leaned in close. For a moment, Dean thought she was going to kiss him again, and he was trying to decide how he'd react to that, but then she whispered. "I will see you soon, Dean."

Dean blinked. "Yeah… Sure…" She was already gone.

* * *

They set out for home the next morning. Castiel had another attempt at healing Sam before they left, this time managing to turn the smaller cuts to red scars and to shrink the larger ones down.

Sam and Castiel took turns in the back seat, swapping when Sam wanted to stretch out and sleep a while, and Dean drove. He was usually happy when behind the wheel of his baby, eating up the miles, and Sam's return should have made him delirious, but he wasn't. He was discomfited by what he was hiding from his brother and his friend—Amara's visit. He knew it was a bad idea to keep it a secret, and the longer he did the worse the reaction was going to be when he came clean, but things were going well now; Sam seemed happy considering what he had been through and Castiel was as he usually was as far as happiness went. He just wanted to enjoy it a bit longer before it all went to hell again. He wanted just a little more peace.

The opportunity for something good came up at the end of their first day on the road. They were on the Indiana border and Sam was asleep in the back seat when they came to a forested spot.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said gently.

Sam stirred. "Yeah?"

"Starry night."

He glanced into the rear-view mirror in time to see Sam's smile. "Yeah. It is."

"What do you think, Cas?" Dean asked.

Castiel peered out of the windshield. "I think it is a starry night."

Sam laughed. "Let's do it."

Ignoring the confused angel at his side, Dean took a turn off onto a dirt track. They drove a mile or so before coming to a clearing about the size of a baseball diamond. It was perfect. There was no artificial light and no couples parking—that happened more often than Dean wished.

Dean was out of the car and at the trunk to get the cooler before Sam had even got his door open. He made his way over to the front of the car and leaned against the hood. Looking like he'd finally caught up, Castiel moved to stand beside him.

Dean handed Sam a beer and offered one to Castiel who refused with a wry smile. Dean took his own and stood the other side of Sam. Without a word, Sam and Dean raised their eyes to the sky, and each let out a soft sigh. It was magnificent. The stars were strewn as far as they could see, creating a perfect blanket of light.

Castiel glanced up too and said. "It is very beautiful."

"This is usually quiet time, Cas," Dean said pointedly.

"Yes," Castiel said, looking around. "I guess it is very quiet to you both."

Sam huffed a laugh at the look of frustration on Dean's face. "I guess it isn't to you, though," he said, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. "You've got to hear everything, angelic hearing and all."

"Yes," Castiel said. "Though angel radio is quieter now, there is still so much noise in the world."

Dean sighed. This was not going to be the quiet night of contemplation it usually was when it was just him and Sam there.

Sam nodded thoughtfully, then his eyes became distant and he frowned. "I missed this, you know."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Dean said.

"No, I mean all of it. Air that doesn't stink like sulfur. Feeling the temperature change instead of just being freezing all the time. Seeing something apart from _him."_

It was the most Sam had spoken about his experiences of Hell since his sleepless ramblings what felt like a lifetime ago. Dean had asked both the soulless version of his brother and the true version if they wanted to talk back then, and neither had wanted to. There had been nothing to say. Sam was talking now though, and Dean listened.

"You forget after a while what things are like. You remember the big things, like people that matter, but little stuff like the way things _feel_ outside of pain, that slips away. You start to slip away."

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. He remembered fearing he would lose Sam to Hell, despite the fact he was determined to get him back, by his soul becoming too damaged. The mention of slipping away was frightening.

"Then you're back," Sam went on. "And everything's overwhelming and real again, and it's the most…"

 _Terrifying and wonderful thing,_ Dean thought. He remembered that feeling, too.

"It's good," Sam said lamely. "Better. It's just, sometimes, to wrap your mind around it… it takes a lot." He smiled. "I will though."

"You will," Dean said, bumping his shoulder.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I will. This helps. It's real." He drew a breath and stared up at the sky again.

* * *

Sam still had moments of unreality when he woke up. He didn't always immediately know where he was. It only lasted a moment, a thrill of fear before the sound of the Impala rumbling beneath him or Dean's voice helped him snap out of his panic into the present. He supposed it would take a while for him to get used to being out and free again.

The morning after they arrived back at the bunker, Sam woke to see Dean standing in the doorway to his room. "Hey," Dean said easily, obviously unaware of Sam's moment of panic. "You hungry? We've got bacon."

Sam's stomach growled in response. "Yeah," he sounded surprised, "actually, I am."

Dean grinned. "Then get your ass up and dressed."

"Be right there."

Dean's footsteps disappeared along the hall and Sam climbed out of bed. He grabbed clean clothes and wandered into the bathroom. There was a large mirror over the basin and he glanced into it automatically as he splashed water over his face. He wished he hadn't. The wounds left by Lucifer were almost healed now, but they had scarred deeply in their swirling and twisting patterns. His skin was a canvas of Lucifer's art.

"I wish I could do more," a voice said regretfully from the door. "I cannot remove the scarring."

Sam turned. Castiel was standing there, his brow creased and his eyes sad.

"It's okay, Cas," Sam said quickly. "It's hardly like they're the only scars I've got."

"They're different though?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "I guess they are." He frowned. "I'm not complaining, it's okay, you know, but why can't you heal them? It's never been a problem before."

"Because they are Lucifer's wounds made by Lucifer's grace. The blade he used was a manifestation of his grace, and that's why I am struggling to heal them. It's been hard to do as much as I have."

"Then stop," Sam said quickly. "It's not like they're really a problem now." They didn't hurt exactly; they were more annoying and upsetting to look at than anything.

Castiel shook his head. "I cannot. They will not heal alone, Sam. Only an angel's grace can heal wounds made by another's like that. Lucifer's is naturally more potent than mine, so it will take time, but I will heal all your wounds eventually, if not the scars."

"Thanks, Cas. I owe you."

"No," Castiel argued. "There is no debt between us."

Sam smiled. "Thank you"

"I will leave you to finish," Castiel said and turned to leave, but Sam called after him. "Yes?" he said, forming the word as a question.

"I need to ask you something," Sam said. "And I don't want to sound like a dick, but I need you to be honest with me, even if it means betraying Dean."

Castiel frowned, but didn't speak so Sam went on.

"Amara. You said Dean didn't make a deal to get me out. I need to know that's the truth and not Dean hiding stuff from me for my 'own good'."

Castiel looked relieved. "No, Sam. I can tell you without betraying anyone anything that as much as I know, Dean didn't make a deal. Amara seemed to ask for nothing in return. She seemed almost… happy to help. The fact she didn't kill me on sight lends credence to that belief."

"Why would she kill you? What did you do?" Sam asked.

"Me, nothing, but my brothers and sisters have earned her ire by attempting to smite her."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Wow. I guess there's a lot I missed."

"Yes," Castiel said. "There is."

Sam's heart seemed to sink. It wasn't like he'd been expecting to come out of the cage into a world populated with bunnies and unicorns, but he'd hoped that at least there would be a little chance to rest. He should have known better.

"Okay," he said bracingly. "Give me a few minutes to clean up and I'll be up so we can talk."

Castiel turned and left. Sam waited until he was sure he was out of earshot then he fixed his eyes on his face in the mirror. "You can do this," he said forcefully.

In response there was laughter in his mind.

His reflected face drained of all color.

"No," Sam said firmly. "This is not happening." It couldn't be. He couldn't do this again. He was out, dammit! He had not dragged that bastard with him.

"Oh, really?" Lucifer's amused voice said.

Sam clasped his hands and pressed down hard on the scar on his palm.

Lucifer laughed again. "Not a hallucination, Sammy. I am _in_ your grapefruit. For real. I'm here. Isn't it nice? Haven't you missed me?"

Sam squeezed his eyes closed. He was not going to engage. He wouldn't encourage.

"I think this conversation would go a little better face to face."

Sam felt a pain in his temple, as if he was being speared by something dull but powerful, and then he was there, In the cage. The air was cold. The smell of sulfur was intense in his nose. And Lucifer was standing close to him, looking into his eyes.

"No! No, no, no!" Sam shouted. "I'm out! I got out!"

"Yes," Lucifer said patiently. "Once again, Saint Dean came to the rescue with an ill-advised deal and saved you. Good for him. Lucky for me, he didn't close the door right on the way out. Actually couldn't. Either way, I still have this juicy method of communication with you."

Sam stepped back until he was pressed against the bars. "Let me go."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? Let you go? Sam, this is the most fun I've had in the longest time. This is even better than having you _in here_ with me. You get to live your crappy life, never knowing when I am going to yank you in here for a chat. I am going to break you."

When was he going to be done being punished? It wasn't fair. He'd got through Hell for the second time intact, or so he'd thought. He hadn't broken and faded out the way every cell of him had yearned to. Why did he have to suffer this slow, painful fate again?

He felt a surge of anger sweep through him. This was wrong. It wasn't fair. "Fuck you!" he snarled, stepping away from the bars and walking toward Lucifer.

"What did you say to me?"

"Fuck you! I am done with this crap." The anger buoyed him, strengthened him, and he knew what he had to do. He closed his eyes and spoke through his teeth. "I am not staying here."

"You think you can just click your heels together three times and be home?" Lucifer scoffed. "Fine, I'll let you go, but you're coming back, Sammy. Just as soon as…"

The air warmed and the smell of sulfur disappeared. Sam opened his eyes to the bathroom. He was facing the mirror still, and his reflection stared back at him, tears drying on his cheeks.

He couldn't this again; he couldn't spend a life questioning what was real and what wasn't. He couldn't suffer through until he was in a locked ward again and preparing to die. He couldn't do that to Dean. He knew what he had to do.

He splashed water on his face and went back into the bedroom. He had to act fast, or Dean was going to know something was up and stop him. He grabbed his duffel from the dresser and dumped it on the bed, snatching clothes from drawers and stuffing them inside it. He would go to Rufus' cabin maybe, regroup and then set out on the road. He could find somewhere alone where he wouldn't know anyone. No one he loved would see him descending into madness and death. He would… m _ake the same mistake he'd been making for years; he would lie to Dean._

He stopped dead with a pair of jeans in one hand and a shirt in the other. The thought came out of nowhere, but it was right. He'd said it himself. Back in that hospital, when Dean had been arguing for shooting their way out, Sam had said they had to change to stop all their crap repeating. They had to change their thinking as well.

It was as if a fog had cleared in his mind. This was what Lucifer would want—Sam alone without anyone to ground him in reality. How fast would he slip without someone there reminding him of what was real and what was false? And Dean… What would he do when he found Sam gone? Chalk it up to Sam's choice and leave it? Of course not. He would do whatever it took to find him, _whatever_ it took.

Sam was stupid. How could he have even thought this was a possibility?

He dropped his duffel down onto the bed and walked out of the room without a backward glance. He strode along the halls as fast as he could, wanting to act before the stupid idea started to make sense again.

The smell of bacon reached him at the same time as Dean's voice, "I'll give him another minute and then go check. Last thing Sammy needs is to feel like an invalid right now. Believe me."

Sam walked into the kitchen and Dean looked up, his smile fading as he got a good look at him. "Hey, Sammy. What took you… What happened?" His tone became intense.

Sam sat down heavily in a chair beside Castiel and looked Dean in the eye. "We need to talk."


	10. Chapter 10

" _We need to talk."_

Dean looked down. Those words have never been followed by a conversation he had enjoyed, and looking at Sam now, taking in the deep furrows on his forehead and the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, he knew this one was going to be no different.

And he didn't want to hear it. Things were good. Sam was out of Hell. Castiel was healing him up. No one was dying from stolen grace or becoming a demon. Amara was distracted taking out the angels—Castiel excepted—and Crowley wasn't currently being a pain in the ass. This was the flipside. After months, years, of nightmares, things were supposed to be better for them, even if only for a little while. But no. Winchester luck ran in one direction, and fate loved to bitch-slap them—bitter shrew that she was.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Castiel asked. "Is it your wounds?"

Sam didn't answer. Dean could feel his eyes on him, waiting patiently for him to man up and listen to the latest nightmare, to face this new catastrophe, whatever it was. And Dean would have to, because that was what he did.

He dragged his eyes up and looked at Sam and wishing he hadn't. Sam looked afraid. It wouldn't have been obvious to anyone else, but it was to Dean—he knew his brother better than anyone. It was in the tightness around the eyes and the thin pressed line of his mouth. When Dean looked at him, he blinked and his eyes became glassy. Damn, he was really scared.

"What's going on, Sam?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral even though it wanted to quaver. Sam needed the strength. If Dean was freaking out, too, he wouldn't be able to hold it together.

Sam cleared his throat and opened his mouth a couple times only to snap it shut again.

"Are you in pain?" Castiel asked solicitously.

Sam shook his head, braced his hands on his knees and spoke in a rush. "It's Lucifer, he's back."

Dean's pulse rushed in his ears; he could feel each individual beat. When his lack of oxygen resumed the unconscious breath he was holding, he heard that echoing, too. It was too loud and not loud enough at the same time. It didn't overpower the screaming voice in his mind. _"Oh, God, what can we do? What the hell are we going to do?"_

"Back how?" Castiel asked, and Dean heard it as though from underwater.

"I heard him, yesterday," Sam said. "You and I were talking and I said something and he laughed. Then…"

Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief. That was it? Okay, it was obviously not remotely fun to have Satan in your ear, but this was nothing. Sam could deal with that. He'd dealt with plenty worse before. Hell, he'd gone months with the Devil giving advice on dental hygiene and whatever other crap Sam was doing at the time. And Sam had handled it. He'd been managing it fine, visual hallucinations included, until he _let_ Lucifer in. Yes, things had gone downhill from there pretty damn fast, but if Sam made sure to not engage, they'd be okay. And they had Castiel now.

"Then what?" Castiel asked.

" _No!"_ the voice in Dean's mind shouted. _"Then nothing, There is no then. There is just laughter, okay? That's it. That's all he needs, dammit! That's all he can take."_

"Just now," Sam said apologetically. "I was getting ready to come up, and he started talking. I…"

"You spoke to him, didn't you?" Dean didn't mean to, but his words came out as an accusation. He couldn't believe Sam would be stupid enough to do that again. He'd let him in last time and it had damn near killed him. Why would he risk that again?

Sam nodded.

"Dammit, Sam! After last time, you actually let him in again!"

"That's not helping, Dean," Castiel scolded.

Sam's jaw jutted out and he spoke defiantly. "It wasn't like last time. It's not a hallucination, Dean, it's really him. And he didn't just talk to me. He took me back. I mean, I wasn't really in the cage, I know that, but I could feel it like I really was. I didn't let him in. He was already there. He's been there since the Darkness, and there is _nothing_ I can do about it! So be angry all you like, blame me because it _is_ my fault, but don't think I _let_ him do anything." He panted hard, his face red. His anger had driven away the look of terror for a moment, and Dean was relieved. He would keep Sam pissed if he could, because that kept him strong. But then Sam visibly sagged in his seat and he said quietly, "I didn't let him in. He was already there."

Dean couldn't keep him pissed. He didn't have the heart to attack again when his brother looked like he was one cross word away from losing it already. Seeing Sam brought so low by this thing made his own anger surge again. That Lucifer was able to do this was wrong, unfair. Sam had already won that war once.

"Rip it out of him, Cas," he said harshly. "Get Lucifer out!"

Sam laughed. "This isn't like last time. Lucifer said when the Darkness was freed, the impact on Hell was huge. It made cracks in the cage, fissures that Lucifer is using to reach out to me through. That's why I was seeing the cage in those 'visions'. It was him feeding things to me to make me think I had to go back. You can't 'rip him out', can you, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. If what you are saying is correct, and he's reaching out to you through the cracks, I cannot stop him. He is an archangel. Even with the walls of the cage between us, he is strong enough to destroy me for even attempting it."

"Okay," Sam said quickly. "Not trying that then."

"There has to be something," Dean said impatiently. "C'mon, Cas, think outside the box."

Castiel stared down at his clasped hands, seeming deep in thought. Dean watched him, waiting for the nerdy eureka moment, but it never came. Castiel sighed and said, "There is nothing I can do. The only option available to me is too great a price to pay."

"What is it?" Dean asked. "What's it going to cost?"

Castiel sighed. "It will cost Sam."

Dean frowned. "You do realize the whole point of this conversation is to save Sam, right?"

"Yes, and I could save him from Lucifer only to destroy him regardless. The only thing that will stop Lucifer being able to access Sam is to take out the part he is reaching Sam through."

"And that's bad because?" Sam asked.

"It would essentially be a psychic lobotomy," Castiel said apologetically. "You could lose yourself, Sam. You could be left in a state that meant you could not recognize us, perhaps not recognize anything. You could be lost forever inside your own mind." He shook his head. "I would never, could never do that to you."

"Damn right you couldn't," Dean said angrily. "Jesus, Cas. That's screwed up."

Castiel rounded on him. "I said I wouldn't!"

"Okay," Sam said, defeated. "That's okay. I think I knew already that there was nothing we could do."

Dean felt anger surge through him. It was just like last time, with Sam in that damned locked ward, calm in the face of death. It _wasn't_ like last time, Dean realized. It was worse. Not yet, of course, Sam was still Sam, but given enough time, Lucifer would bring him to his knees again. Probably faster. Last time it had been a hallucination, Sam's own mind working against him. Lucifer himself had far more imagination than Sam. He would break him so much faster. How long did he have? Months? Weeks? It wasn't years, that was for sure.

He looked across the table at Sam and saw him looking right back at him, understanding in his eyes. He knew what Dean was thinking because he was already thinking it himself. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him. He'd had a sneak preview of his fate a few years ago, dragged out of the fire by Castiel at the last minute. But Castiel couldn't save him this time, not without taking Sam as a person out of their lives.

Dean's anger rose higher. Sam was accepting this. Sure, he was scared, but that usually just made Sam fight harder. He wasn't though. He was just looking at Dean with those sorrowful eyes, as if he was already saying goodbye.

Suddenly, Dean couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stay in that room with the useless angel and fading brother. He would lose his mind if he did. That or he'd attack one of them; Castiel for his uselessness or Sam for his acceptance. He lurched to his feet, sending the chair behind him falling back to the floor, and made for the door.

"Dean, please," Sam said quietly.

Dean spun on his heel. "Please what?" he growled.

"Don't walk away. Stay and talk to me."

Dean shook his head. "Talk about what? How about the fact you've accepted Lucifer? The fact you might as well be gone already? It's easy for you, isn't it? Sure, it's going to suck for a while, but, hey, you have an out. When he's cracked your gourd completely, you won't even care anymore. It's me and Cas that'll have to deal with it then, with you, when you're gone." He turned on Castiel. "Actually, Cas, give him the lobotomy already. Make it a merciful, fast end."

"Dean!" Castiel sounded stunned.

"How?" Sam shouted, lurching to his feet. "How do I fight? C'mon, Dean, you know so much, tell me how to fight the Devil when he is in _my head_?"

Sam waited for Dean to speak, but he didn't. He needed Sam to get through this, to feel it. To be angry, even at Dean instead of Lucifer, would help. Anything that might strengthen him was good.

"You have no idea," Sam went on furiously, "what this feels like. Your body has always been your own. I was just a baby when Yellow-Eyes dripped blood into my mouth, violating me, and it hasn't stopped since. Meg, Lucifer, Gadreel, and now this… Tell me, Dean, how do I fight when it's an archangel on the other side of the ring? An archangel with access to my thoughts and memories, everything he needs to break me. What do I do?" His voice trembled. "What do I do, Dean?"

Dean did the only thing he could. He moved into Sam's space and threw his arms around him for a moment and then he pushed him back, hands on his shoulders. "You stay angry, Sam. You do whatever it takes to stay strong and you hold out until we find a way to stop this. There has to be something, and I'll find it, I swear. I won't, _we_ won't let him win. Okay?"

Sam sniffed and nodded, and Dean thought maybe he saw something come to life in Sam's eyes. It could have been wishful thinking, because he needed it to be there, but he thought it looked like hope. Sam would need that hope, that anger, and that strength.

That was when Sam's eyes became distant again.

* * *

"Seriously?" Lucifer said. "You went to Dean and Castiel with this? Like they can do anything. Dean will drink himself into full blown alcoholism again and Castiel will make a great support network when the tool isn't staring vaguely into space listening to angel radio, which, by the way, is very quiet. You should ask about that."

Sam clenched his fists and fixed his will on ignoring the voice.

"Do you feel even a little bad?" Lucifer asked. "I mean, dragging them down with you, once again, is a pretty shitty move. If you'd kept your head we'd have been out of here by now, on the open road to freedom. Sure, Dean would have worried when you took off, and he'd have searched, but at least he wouldn't have to see you slowly losing your mind again. In fact, Sam, I think you're being selfish."

He would not engage. He would not talk. He knew Lucifer was wrong, but nothing good would come of it apart from giving Lucifer the pleasure of an argument.

"And do you really believe Dean is going to save you? Maybe he can. My money's on epic failure, but he's a determined little thing when it comes to his Sammy. Only, things don't always go well when he tries, do they? There was the deal, that went well. Calling off the trials, good job on that cowardice. And then Gadreel. We all know how that ended. Poor Kevin."

"Shut up!" Sam shouted, forcing the voice away. The pressure of it spiked his head with pain, but the voice fell silent at last, replaced by Dean's worry.

"Sammy? Hey, snap out of it!"

Sam opened his eyes, unaware of the point at which they had closed, and the room swam in front of him. His breath rasped in his ears, much too fast, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He made a concerted effort to calm down, but it was like he was an observer watching his own panic, not controlling it. Dean was kneeling in front of him, a hand on Sam's chest, and the other holding Sam's to his own. He was taking exaggerated slow breaths, making Sam's hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. The message was clear—breathe with me—but Sam couldn't.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean growled. "You can do this."

Sam nodded his agreement, but still failed to manage to slow his breaths even a little. He looked desperately into Dean's eyes, his panic growing by the moment, and then up to Castiel's troubled face, a plea in his eyes—help me!

Castiel stepped around Dean and laid a hand on Sam's chest, his palm resting beside Dean's as both his brother and his friend tried to help. "Rest," Castiel said gently, and Sam felt his eyes roll up before he collapsed forward, his head landing on Dean's shoulder as he lost consciousness.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

"Lucifer," Castiel replied.

"I guessed that much. What I meant was why did it knock him on his ass the way it did? It wasn't like that last time. He would see crap, but he handled it." _Eventually_ , a voice whispered. _Do you remember when you found him?_

Dean's mind shot back through the years to that warehouse, Sam's gun clasped in his shaking hand and bullets ricocheting from pipes. The outright panic in Sam's eyes as he said, _"I can't know that for sure,"_ when Dean was trying to prove that he was real and Lucifer was false.

So Sam hadn't handled it at first, but Dean hadn't expected this… to see Sam so broken down by it that he couldn't even breathe properly. That was frightening. That wasn't the brother he knew. Was it a sign that Lucifer had broken him already, or was this just how it started? Would Sam get his feet under him again and handle it the way he had before for a while? Had he started along the path of losing his brother already?

"I was not there last time," Castiel reminded him. "I was living as Emmanuel. You would know better than I do how this will develop."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "I don't want to think about that right now, Cas." He adjusted his hold on Sam where he supported him in his chair, surreptitiously laying a hand on his chest so he could feel the beat of Sam's heart against his palm. It was calm now.

"Perhaps not," Castiel said. "But at some point we will need to."

"No," Dean said doggedly, "we won't. I told him I'd find a way, and I will. Lucifer will not win."

"I think you could be right."

"Damn straight."

"I think Sam might already have a way in fact."

Dean's gaze snapped from his brother's closed eyes to Castiel's thoughtful ones. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not positive," Castiel said evasively. "I will need to speak to him first."

"Then let's wake him up," Dean said. Castiel didn't disagree, so Dean patted Sam's cheek with his free hand and spoke loudly. "C'mon, Sammy, nap time's over. Rise and shine." Sam's eyes rolled and his brow furrowed, even half asleep, he looked afraid. "It's okay. Just me and Cas here," Dean said. "No one else." Though he couldn't guarantee that for Sam.

Sam nodded even as he opened his eyes. "Yeah, no one."

Taking that as reassurance that Lucifer was, at least for the moment, absent, Dean smiled at him. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," Sam said quickly. "Sorry for freaking out."

"Yeah, 'cause that was completely under your control," Dean scoffed.

"It's okay, Sam," Castiel said solemnly. "We understand."

Sam smiled at Dean and looked gratefully at Castiel. "Thank you."

Dean went to the coffee maker and poured two mugs full. He took one to Sam and then sat beside him, taking what had been Castiel's seat, and cradled his own mug in his hands. He looked pointedly at Castiel and said, "So, what was that about having a plan?"

Castiel moved around the table and took what had been Dean's seat. "Sam," he said gently, "before you became upset, Lucifer was talking to you, wasn't he?"

Sam nodded and looked apologetically at Dean. "Yeah."

"But he left," Castiel went on.

"Yeah, he was talking and…"

"You shouted at him to shut up. Did he leave immediately?"

Sam considered for a moment "No… Last time he didn't, he carried on for a moment, but that was to say how he was letting me go, and then he'd trailed off instead of finishing. This time he was just sort of gone."

Castiel looked satisfied, and Dean's eyes widened. "Are you saying he can control this? Like the hand scar?"

"No," Castiel said. "From what you told me about last time, Sam used the scar to show himself what was real and false. Lucifer is real—"

"Way to sugarcoat it, Cas," Dean muttered.

"—but Sam seems to have some control of his access. Before, when you thought it was God, Sam, you would have been eager for the visions. You were waiting for them and therefore were open. Now it's Lucifer, you seem to have the ability to… cast him out, I suppose."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. This was better than he'd hoped. He had been serious when he promised Sam he'd find a way, but they already had one. Sam was strong. He'd withstood the trials, he'd beaten out Gadreel and Lucifer once before. He could cast Lucifer out now. Sure, it wouldn't be fun, that much was evidenced by Sam's deer-in-headlights expression, but it was something when they'd had nothing.

"I can't stop him coming in," Sam said quietly.

"No," Castiel agreed, "but you can stop him getting a foothold when he does."

Dean gripped Sam's arm, feeling the tension there. "This is good news, Sam. It's not forever, I'll find a way to keep him out for good, but until then, you've got some control over the bastard. You can stop him staying!"

Sam nodded slowly. "I can do that."

"You can," Dean said confidently.

Sam spoke so quietly Dean wasn't sure he was supposed to hear him. "I have to."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven** _

A week after Sam's admission that Lucifer was present again, Dean ambled into the kitchen to find Sam at the table with an empty cereal bowl in front of him and a mug of coffee in his hands. He didn't seem to notice Dean entering the room. His attention was all on the depths of his coffee. Dean cleared his throat and waited for Sam to react, but he didn't, at least not at first. There was a moment's pause before he shook his head jerkily, drew in a deep breath and looked at Dean, "Oh, hey." He looked a little guilty, as if he had been doing something illicit rather than kicking the devil out of his mind.

"Hey," Dean said, keeping his tone light and unconcerned, even though what he wanted to be doing was asking Sam if he was okay, if there was anything he needed or wanted. If there was _anything_ Dean could do to make this easier on him.

He crossed to the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee then took a seat opposite Sam who was rubbing a hand over his creased brow.

"Headache?"

Sam nodded and dropped his hand. "Not so bad."

Though it was understandable that psychically forcing an archangel out of your head would come with a side effect, Dean still hated that Lucifer could still hurt Sam in any way. It wasn't such a bad tradeoff for keeping Lucifer out though, a little pain as opposed to mental torment.

"Heard anything from Cas?" Dean asked.

Shortly after the Lucifer conversation, Castiel had approached them with the news that he had heard an injured brother reaching out for help on angel radio. Dean had known he wanted to go to him but, perhaps selfishly, he'd wanted to keep Castiel around for Sam—what if he became overwhelmed again? He'd not said that though. He'd just told Castiel to go do what needed to be done and set him up with some cash for the journey.

"No, nothing," Sam replied. "Think we should be worried?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Cas is more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, the only real threat out there against him is Amara and she's sworn off him."

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line but he didn't comment. Dean knew it was the mention of Amara that had done it. Sam didn't trust her. He didn't know her the same way Dean did. Not wanting to get into a conversation about her, Dean said, "You want to get into season three after I eat?"

They'd been binge watching Game of Thrones for the past few days. Sam was obviously a little bemused by it but he didn't say anything against. While Sam had been gone, Dean had vowed to himself that when he got Sam back, they would just be brothers a while, drinking beer, watching Game of Thrones. He had Sam back now, and he was going to make good on it.

"Actually," Sam said, "I was thinking we could venture out of the bunker for a while."

"Okay," Dean said easily. "Where are we going?"

"Washington," Sam ventured then rushed on. "There's a case on the coast. I think it's vampires. Should be an easy fix." He looked hopeful and Dean felt like an asshole for not getting behind him at once. The problem was Sam wasn't at full capacity. He was good most of the time, but when Satan put in an appearance, Sam zoned out. Anything could happen to him while he did. Dean could and would defend him to his last breath, but years of hunting had proved that it was hard to defend someone when you were pinned against a wall, or being flung through the air and knocked unconscious. And while he was out, Sam would be taking the brunt of it.

"I don't know," he started, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It's a hell of a drive." That was bullshit and they both knew it. Sam knew it.

"We've driven further for less."

"True," Dean said, "but that was before…"

Sam's expression darkened. "Before Lucifer signed up to be my co-pilot you mean?"

Dean didn't answer. He didn't want to lie to his brother, but he didn't want to tell him that was exactly what he was thinking.

"You're right," Sam said, downing the dregs of his coffee and standing. "I'm a liability."

"That's not what I said."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "It's what you were thinking though."

"It's not like that, Sam."

"Then what is it like?" Sam asked, sounding resigned.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Dean said honestly.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You were gone two months, Sam," Dean said, trying to keep his voice steady and factual. "For two months I only had nightmares to tell me what was happening to you. I had no idea how much of you I was going to get back. You were so damaged after the first time." He lost the ability to be factual and his voice became impassioned. "You were gone, Sam, and all I had were nightmares. I don't want you to be hurt again."

Sam looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Dean said automatically.

"I have. I was the one who landed myself in that cage. I went ahead without you and—"

"You called me. I didn't answer."

"And that might have made a difference. I don't think so though. I was so hopped up on the belief that it was God speaking to me, that he'd _chosen_ me. That, for once, I was going to be able to do some real good. I was arrogant and stupid and I should have listened."

Dean sighed. Sam was right about some parts of it, but the crap about doing some 'real good' for once made him mad. After everything he'd done—he'd gone to Hell for the sake of the world dammit! Why didn't he see the good like Dean did?

"Sam, you've done a lot of good," he started, but Sam shook his head.

"That's not the point anyway. Lucifer is. And Hunting. Lucifer is with me for the long haul now. I know that and so do you. I am going to have to get back to work at some point, why not now?"

Dean knew it already, but he had another idea. Sam could stop. Draw the curtain on the hunting life and become a Man of Letters. They could both do that. They'd still be helping people; they'd be assets for other hunters. They would have to stop eventually anyway so, like Sam had said, why not now?

Maybe because the idea felt so wrong on so many levels. He was a hunter. That was all he was good at. Only for Sam could he give it up.

"We could stop," he said quietly.

"Stop?" Sam said disbelievingly.

"Yeah, hang it up. Settle here and work on lore and researching for other hunters. We could really…" He trailed off as Sam turned away, his shoulders stiff. "Sam? Is it him? Is he back?"

Sam drew a deep breath and turned back to Dean. His eyes were red. "I can't stop," he said. "I have to hunt, Dean."

"Why?" he asked without heat. "Why does it matter so much?"

Sam opened his mouth then snapped it shut. "It just does. Look, Dean, I'm not asking you to take this hunt with me. It'd be safer for you if you didn't, in fact."

"Forget that," Dean said firmly.

"But I'm taking it," Sam went on without pause.

"No, _we're_ taking it." He forced a smile "I'm not letting you have all the fun. I'll grab a coffee and then we'll head out."

Sam smiled tentatively. "Okay. Thanks, Dean."

Dean waved away his thanks. For all his easy words, he wasn't happy about this. He didn't want Sam getting hurt, but he thought perhaps he would hurt him more by trying to stop him hunting at all. Whatever the reason Sam needed to keep going, it was something big. It mattered to him.

* * *

Sam was woken by a hand on his shoulder and a voice calling his name. He snapped into wakefulness, jerking away from the touch and bumping his shoulder hard against the door.

"Whoa, easy," Dean said, drawing himself back against his own door.

Sam immediately felt ashamed of his overreaction. He had been dreaming of the cage again, and Dean had just touched him at exactly the wrong moment. Now he was awake, he was grateful even, as it saved him from the horror of the dream.

"Sorry," he muttered.

He looked out of the window and saw they were in the parking lot of a motel called the Pacific Inn.

"Welcome to Bumfuck, Washington," Dean said in a falsely bright voice. "Population: who gives a crap."

Sam obliged his attempt at lightening the mood by laughing. "That what it said in the brochure?"

Dean grinned. "Nah, I read the sign on the way into town."

They both climbed out of the car and looked across the roof at each other. "Checking in or hauling gear?" Dean asked.

"I'll haul," Sam said. He wasn't entirely sure the shadows of his nightmare were out of his eyes yet, and he didn't want to deal with the curious looks and assessment of a stranger.

Dean nodded and whistled as he ambled into the motel office.

Sam was more appreciative of Dean's pretence than he could say. Dean was obviously worried about the whole Lucifer thing, and Sam _knew_ he wasn't fully on board with hunting, but he wasn't making a big deal about it. He was giving Sam what he needed: silent support and normalcy.

He popped the trunk and took out their duffels and an extra bag of weapons that clanked suspiciously; thankfully he was alone in the lot. They hadn't gone after a vampire recently, and though they kept their weapons cared for, they would both want to sharpen their machetes before they went on the hunt. It was as much a part of the process as the kill itself.

Dean came out, tossing a key from hand to hand with a wide smile in place. "Jessica says she's given us the best room," he said brightly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Jessica?"

"Front desk. Brunette. Beautiful. Chatty. Gets off work in a couple hours. Interested."

"That's nice for you," Sam said with a smile.

"In _you_ ," he said pointedly. "Her exact words were, 'Wow, who's the man mountain?'."

"Dean, did you set me up with the desk clerk?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "That would be creepy and gross. I just set the table for you. Told her you were single and in town to solve crime. She liked that part."

"And _that's_ not creepy and gross?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "You don't have to go for it. I just thought you might want a distraction."

Sam shook his head slowly. It _was_ creepy that Dean was setting him up with random women, but he could see the motivation behind it, and it was born of a place of concern rather than teasing as it once would have been. Sam appreciated it.

"No thanks, man," he said. "I'm good."

Dean shrugged. "That's cool."

Sam shouldered two of the duffels, carrying the other in his free hand, and followed Dean along the units to a door at the end of the block. Dean opened it and gestured Sam in with flourish.

For the 'best room' it was impressively normal. It looked clean though, and the beds were a good size. There was a small kitchenette with a coffee maker on the counter that they would both appreciate.

He dropped Dean's duffel down on the first bed and the weapons and his own bag on the second then pulled his laptop from his bag and set it up on the table.

"You want to start now?" Dean asked, his bright mood seeming to vanish on the spot.

Sam shrugged. "We've got to start sometime."

"Yeah, but we just drove ten hours, it's late, I'm hungry, and last night's motel came with non-optional nightclub next door. We're both wiped. How about we make a start tomorrow?"

He made a good point, but Sam wanted to be distracted—and not by Jessica. "I'll cut you a deal," he said. "You go out and get us food while I search up some stuff online and when you get back, we'll call it a night."

Dean considered for a moment and then nodded. "Okay. What do you want?"

"The usual," Sam said, knowing that Dean would understand he meant whatever remotely healthy fare he could find.

"On it," Dean said.

As the door closed behind him, Sam started his search through the local news archive.

There had been another death since he'd last read the reports—this time a deputy in the town's small PD. The article was long, but there was little information to be found. It was more about the man's virtues and the fact he'd been on duty when he'd died.

Sam was about to get to work hacking the PD files to see if they had any more information when he heard the sickeningly familiar voice whispering to him. "Done a lot of good, have you? Does Dean have amnesia or is he still fixing on you taking me down like it's a good thing?"

Sam closed his eyes and prepared to shove him out, but then Lucifer spoke again.

"And you… _'I have to hunt'."_ He laughed his cold laugh. "Do you realize how damn stupid you sound? Do you really believe you can make up for all the bad you've done by killing a couple vampires? Face it, Sam, you're a failure and always will be."

But that wasn't it. Sam didn't need to hunt to make up for his failings, at least not only for that. He had his own reasons to keep going.

"Yes, you do, and I know what they are…" Lucifer crooned.

Sam had heard enough. He shoved Lucifer out with all the strength he possessed, feeling the spike of pain in his temple as he did. Lucifer disappeared, the room rushed back at him, and Sam felt his own pulse pounding in his ears.

He pushed the laptop away and rested his cheek against the cool wood of the table. He would allow himself a minute to feel the pain and then he would get his back under it and get on with the job, because he had to. He wasn't going to let Lucifer win.

* * *

The mood in the PD office was somber when Sam and Dean arrived there the next morning. They were ushered into the Chief's office and gestured to chairs. The chief was dark haired with a trimmed moustache and intelligent eyes.

Sam and Dean showed him their FBI badges and he examined them carefully enough to make Dean nervous. He didn't comment on them—or out them as fakes—though. He just leaned forward in his chair and said seriously, "You're here about our exsanguination kills, right?"

"Yes," Sam said. "What can you tell us?"

"There have been five attacks now. The last was my Deputy, Mark Mayhew." He shook his head. "He went on a call about a disturbance in town and never came back."

"And he was found by a hiker?"

"Yesterday morning, yeah. Just like the other bodies, there were four wounds and he was drained of all blood, but there was no blood at the scene." He sighed. "I don't know what to make of it. I've seen every kind of animal attack possible in the state, and there's never been anything like this."

"No," Sam said. "Neither have we."

"What's the fed interest?" he asked. "Sounds a little low speed for you fellas."

"A fellow law keeper dies, we all hurt," Dean said seriously. "We're all on the same side, after all."

The chief looked pleased, at least as much as he could with the lines of grief etched into his brow. "Well, I sure hope you fellas can put a stop to it."

"One more question," Sam said. "What can you tell us about the disturbance the deputy was attending?"

Color flushed the man's cheeks. "It was those damned Stewart kids." Seeing their blank looks, he went on. "This group of four kids moved into the area a few weeks ago. They've been nothing but trouble. Causing riots in the bars every night and roaring up and down the highways in the early hours."

"Their last name is Stewart?" Dean asked.

"No, they've taken up in the old Stewart place on the town border. It's an old house in the forest. I'd throw them out for trespassing, but no one seems to know who the house really belongs to anymore. I've done what I can to make things uncomfortable here for them in hopes that they'll move on, but so far they're not budging."

Sam nodded thoughtfully and exchanged a glance with Dean who shook his head. He had nothing else to ask. "Okay. Well, thank you for your assistance. We'll report back with any news."

"I'd appreciate that."

They stood and shook the man's hand before turning and leaving the office. When they got out to the car, Dean stopped and looked at Sam. "Stewart place?" he asked.

"Raising hell at night," Sam said pointedly. "They're worth a look at least. Check them out, see if they've got fangs, and work it from there."

Dean nodded his agreement. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Though they would have preferred to go into the hunt during the day when the sunlight gave then the slightest advantage, they needed to stock up on dead man's blood, and they needed darkness to break into the morgue. So it was almost three-am when they finally set out, freshly sharpened machetes in hand, to the address for the Stewart place that Dean had charmed out of Jessica in the office.

There was a sense of nervous anticipation in the car as they made the drive. Sam seemed eager to be hunting, to be doing good. Dean was just eager to be out there fighting fuglys again. There was always something satisfying about taking on a simple, non-apocalyptic case and saving some lives.

With their human scents and heartbeats, they had no chance of sneaking up on the vampires, so they didn't bother to conceal their arrival. They drove right to the house, pleased to see there were two other cars outside, which Dean hoped meant their targets were home.

"You ready for this?" Dean asked.

"More than ready," Sam said fervently.

They climbed out and rushed at the front door. With two hard kicks, Sam had it open and they were rushing inside. There were two vampires in view as soon as they got in. They were entwined on a ratty couch, well on their way to naked. As Sam and Dean entered, they broke apart and lips curled back into snarls as their secondary teeth descended.

Dean rushed forward and brought his machete back in a swing to take out the male at the neck. The vampire pulled back just in time for the blade to only skim the back of his neck though, and Dean had to regroup. Two distinct thuds told him that Sam had taken out his target, though Dean couldn't turn to look and check. All his attention was on the vampire rushing at him. Just before it came within swinging distance, Dean kicked up and caught it in the gut. The vampire stumbled back, and Dean used his moment of capitulation to take off his head. It fell to the floor and Dean's eyes immediately roved the room for Sam.

He was standing against the wall, his eyes blank and wide, and his machete hanging loosely at his side. Lucifer was back.

"Kick him out, Sam!" he shouted.

Sam did not, could not, respond, and as Dean started across the room toward him, he heard footsteps rushing down the stairs behind him and a roar of anger. He turned and saw four vampires coming at him.

"Oh, crap," he moaned.

The rushed him and Dean hefted his machete to his shoulder again.

"This'll be fun," he said with a false smile. He'd faced plenty worse odds before, but he was alone then. He had to defend Sam this time, too. All he could do was hope that Sam shoved Lucifer out soon, or things were about to get messy.

* * *

They were in the cage, and Sam was pinned against the bars with Lucifer's hand at his throat. He was trying his damndest to fight back, but he couldn't draw a breath and that made it hard to think, even though he knew on some level that it wasn't real.

"This is more like it," Lucifer said, leaning close enough that Sam could feel his cold breath against his neck. "Face time. You've been such a naughty boy, Sammy, pushing me out. You became even more arrogant than you were before."

"Fuck you," Sam rasped.

Lucifer leered at him and Sam shuddered.

"Now, while Dean is busy being a hero, you and I are going to talk. I want to discuss this whole 'hunting' thing. You know it's a risk. It could get you killed, so let's break down the facts. You say you _need_ to hunt, but why?"

Sam refused to answer. He wasn't going to engage.

"I know, of course," Lucifer said. "It's down to little old me, right? You think that if you keep going, living your life the way you always have, you win." He shook his head and leaned close to whisper in Sam's ear. "You can't win, Sam."

"I will!" Sam rasped.

Lucifer's fingers tightened around his throat and Sam desperately tried to draw in an impossible breath.

"And I'll tell you something else," Lucifer started, but then Sam heard it, a shout that was not Lucifer. It was Dean, and his command was simple, _"Kick him out, Sam!"_

"Oh dear," Lucifer said. "Sounds like big brother's in trouble. What do you think, Sam? Can you save him from the big bad vampire?"

Sam felt a surge of strength. His hand came up and his fingers curled around Lucifer's frigid wrist. He gripped it tightly and pulled it away. It took a massive effort and his head screamed with pain from it, but he was able to force Lucifer's hand back. As soon as he drew a breath, his head cleared and he was able to gather himself enough to break free from the vision of the cage. Lucifer and the bars at his back disappeared and Sam was suddenly in the large room in the house they'd tracked the vampires to.

His eyes found Dean in time to see him swinging his machete through the air and slicing it through the head of a vampire with a roar of anger. The vampire dropped to the floor in two pieces, and Dean turned. Relief flooded his face as he saw Sam stepping away from the wall. "Thank God," he breathed.

Sam took in the room. There were the separated pieces of six vampires on the floor. Five of which must have been Dean's kills.

"Five!" Sam gasped.

Dean nodded proudly. "Sammy, your big brother is awesome."

Sam nodded and then fell back as pain seared through his head. His shoulders hit the wall and he slid down it. He could hear Dean calling to him, and then there were hands on his shoulder and cheek, but he couldn't respond. The pain blotted out everything else. He clenched his teeth shut to keep him from crying out.

It seemed to last forever, but eventually the pain lessened to a bearable level and Sam was able to take in what was happening around him.

"Sam! Talk to me, dammit!" Dean commanded.

"I'm okay," Sam said, and he was unsurprised that his voice was a whisper. Though he hadn't been aware of it, at some point in the agony, he had curled his fists in Dean's shirt. He released it now, and patted Dean's hand where it lay on his shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

"Headache," Sam said, his voice a little stronger now as the pain faded. "World's worst headache."

"Damn," Dean breathed, leaning back on his haunches and releasing Sam. "It's never been like that before, has it?"

"No, but it took a lot to get him out this time," Sam explained.

"A helluva lot."

Sam nodded and looked around at the bodies that littered the room. He drew in a sharp breath. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head. "It's cool. Like I said, I'm awesome."

Sam forced a smile, and took proffered Dean's hand as he helped him to his feet. "Let's get out of here though."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala and handed them to Sam. "You go rest in the car. I'll start the fire and we can get out of here."

Sam didn't have the energy to argue. He made sure to keep his gait steady as he made for the door. As he pulled it open, he heard laughter and a smug voice whispered. _"I win."_

* * *

"So, what happened?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed heavily, a defeated sound. "Lucifer got in."

"I guess that much. Why couldn't you shove him out?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Not really. I mean, in what I was seeing, I was in the cage and he had his hand round my throat, but that shouldn't have stopped me. Maybe I was just too weak."

Dean bumped his shoulder with a fist. "Not weak, Sam. You've been through plenty worse, and you've never been weak. Something else happened; we just need to work out what so it doesn't happen again."

They were parked at a rest stop a couple miles outside Portland, leaning against the hood of the car and looking out over a lake. Sam's eyes were squinted against the sunlight, and he seemed transfixed by a boat bobbing out in the distance. When he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. "I think maybe he could always do it, hold me in like that, but he kept it for the right moment. It would have been no fun just dragging me in at the bunker when nothing was happening. He picked the perfect moment to have the most impact."

It had definitely had an impact. It had been terrifying for Dean to be facing off those vampires and knowing that it they took him out, Sam was defenseless with Lucifer chatting away to him.

"Asshole," Dean hissed.

Sam laughed harshly. "It's Satan, Dean. Of course he's being an asshole. He owes me."

"Why are you saying that like you did something wrong?" When Sam remained silent, he turned his whole body to face him. "Sam! You saved the damn world doing what you did. You won. You screwed him over because the bastard deserved it."

"I'm not arguing. I'm just saying, from Lucifer's twisted point of view, this is probably justice. Taking this from me, he wins."

"Taking what?" Dean asked, though in his heart he already knew the answer.

"Hunting," Sam said patiently. "He had me trapped at the exact wrong moment. You could have been killed."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"But you might not have been. That could have ended a whole different way. I could have got you hurt."

It was the truth and Dean knew it, though he did not want to admit it, even to himself.

"I can't hunt anymore," Sam said, his tone steeped with sadness. "I've got to stop."

"Sam…"

"No. It's how it's got to be. I've got to stop. Become a Man of Letters, like you said." He nodded. "It'll be okay. _I'll_ be okay."

Dean saw the sacrifice in his eyes. Sam hated this, was afraid of it even. It made Dean angry. As if Lucifer hadn't already taken and done enough to Sam, he was taking his whole way of life from him now. For now. Dean had said he'd work out a way to block Lucifer, and he would. He would not let him win.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was sitting in the library of the bunker, slugging back a beer and turning pages of the book in front of him too quickly to take in any meaning from what the printed words said. It didn't really matter; after all, it wasn't the first time he'd read that particular book. In the days since they'd been back from Washington, both he and Sam had been dedicating themselves to finding a solution for Lucifer's connection to him. Though neither of them said it, it was unlikely they were going to find anything in lore, because the connection between Sam and Lucifer was unique as was the situation between them. The best they could hope for was some information on building psychic strength. Though how much more psychic strength could Sam possibly still have to build given his past 'training' with demons?

He shoved the book away and it skidded off the table and hit the ground with a clapping sound that echoed around the large room.

Whenever he let himself think about it, really think about what had happened to Sam on the vampire hunt, he got scared. They'd thought they had a weapon, a way to keep Sam safe in his own mind until they could come up with a permanent solution, but they didn't; Sam couldn't always keep him out.

He heard the creak of tumblers falling into place as someone opened the bunker door and he quickly got out of his chair and retrieved the book from the floor. He didn't want Sam seeing evidence of his frustration.

"Sammy?" he called.

"No." There were clunking footsteps as Castiel came down the staircase and then lighter tread on the polished wooden floor.

Pleased to see his friend again, Dean sat down and gestured Castiel into a chair. He took a draw on his beer and asked, "How'd it go with your angel buddy?"

Castiel shook his head. "He survived." The way he said it made Dean think it had been a touch and go thing. "I have helped him go into hiding."

"Not as a priest, I'm guessing?"

"Not as anything. He's on the run just as the other angels are now." Castiel looked sad for a moment, then he shook his head and patted the cover of one of the books on the table. "Have you been able to make any progress with Sam's problem?"

"No," Dean said dourly. "And it's worse than we thought."

"How?" Castiel asked, his brow furrowed and eyes concerned.

Dean gave him a brief rundown of the hunt and how Sam had been trapped at the exact wrong moment, leaving Dean to face off with four vampires.

"He couldn't cast him out?"

Dean shook his head. "He said Lucifer had him round the throat and somehow that stopped him being able to get free of it. And it hurt him, Cas. It was like when the visions used to hit, but it lasted longer. He couldn't even talk."

"This is troubling," Castiel said dourly. "Very troubling. Where is Sam?" He looked around the room as if expecting to see Sam peering at him from behind a bookcase.

"Gone on a run into town for some supplies. I think he just needed to get away from the research for a while. I mean, I'm running on scared pretty much full time now, so it's got to be kicking his ass."

"It probably is," Castiel agreed dispassionately.

Dean got to his feet and walked over to the sideboard to exchange his beer for a whiskey. He drank the first down in a single gulp and then poured another, adding a second glass when he heard the door opening again and Sam's voice calling, "Hey!" He sounded okay. Like the trip out of the bunker had done him good.

"Hey," he said, walking back to the table. He set the glasses down and turned to greet Sam as he came up the steps from the war room.

"Sam!" Castiel's voice was strained and Dean's attention snapped to him. He looked horrified.

"Whoa! What's with the face?" Dean demanded. His heart was pounding because it was Sam Castiel was looking at like that, and it could mean nothing good.

Castiel didn't answer. He was on his feet, plucking the grocery bag out of Sam's hands and placing it roughly on the floor. He crowded into Sam's space, making him pull back. "Cas?" Sam said doubtfully. "What's going on?"

"What have you done to yourself?" Castiel asked accusingly.

Sam stepped backward, but Castiel grabbed his shoulders and held him in place. "Stay still!" he commanded.

Sam looked almost scared and Dean felt the same. Whatever was making Castiel act like this, it wasn't something small. He was really freaked. Castiel raised a hand slowly and brought it to Sam's temple. "Be still," he said softly as he gently laid his hand on Sam and closed his eyes. Dean saw the white light pour out of Castiel's palm and Sam's grimace, and he was rushing toward him with a hand outstretched to Sam, but as quickly as it had started, it was over. Castiel was moving back and Sam was staring at him wide-eyed. "What…?" he asked breathlessly

"…the hell was that?" Dean finished for him.

"Do you feel better?" Castiel asked Sam solicitously.

Sam nodded, looking a little surprised. "Yeah, yeah I do."

Dean bristled. "You feel _better_? Why didn't you say you were hurting?"

Sam dragged his eyes from Castiel to Dean. "Because I didn't really know," he said quietly.

"You didn't know you were in pain?" Dean asked watching Sam suspiciously.

"No," Sam said defensively. "It was like Hell."

Dean understood. There was a point in Hell at which you stopped appreciating the agony of what they were doing to you. It was just there. Instead, you would feel other things like the drip of blood trailing down you and the cold against the ragged edges of your skin. It wasn't that it stopped hurting; it just became a state of being rather than something fresh.

What the hell had Castiel just cured?

Sam sidestepped Castiel and moved to sit down at the table. He picked up a glass of whiskey in each hand, downed one and started to sip the other. Dean retrieved the decanter from the sideboard and brought it to the table. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

"So, what was that?" Dean asked intensely.

"Cerebral hemorrhages," Castiel replied seriously. "Many of them."

Dean's mouth dropped open and he turned to Sam who looked a little pale, though not as surprised as Dean would have expected. "He's bleeding into his brain?"

"He was," Castiel corrected. "They were mostly small."

"Like that makes a difference," Dean said bitterly.

"Actually, it does. If they were much bigger, they would—"

"Okay, we got it thanks, Cas," Dean said loudly, cutting him off before he could say something that would engrave itself into Dean's mind and whisper to him in the darkness of night. They all knew what he was saying anyway. Sam knew; that was clear by the way he quickly moved his clenched and shaking hands from the tabletop to his lap. Much bigger and Sam would be dead already.

Dean felt sick. "But you fixed things, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but there is a bigger question we need to ask ourselves," Castiel said. "Why is he bleeding at all?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look laden with meaning. They both knew the answer but neither of them wanted to be the one to voice it. Sam turned away and looked across the room, distancing himself from the conversation, maybe, or perhaps just unwilling to look either of them in the eye when it was said.

"Lucifer," Dean said, seeing Sam's shoulders stiffen at the mention of the name. "It's got to be."

Castiel nodded. "That is my guess, too. Somehow the effort of what you are doing is damaging you. I am sorry, Sam. I had no idea this would happen when I told you to cast him out."

For all the reaction that Sam gave, Castiel might not have spoken at all. He stared determinedly at the opposite wall, his jaw clenched and eyes hard.

"Sam," Dean said tentatively.

Sam lurched to his feet, sending his chair skidding back with a scraping sound, and made for the stairs with long strides.

"Wait," Dean said, standing and making to follow him. "We need to talk about his."

Sam turned back at the top of the stairs, his eyes blazing but his voice defeated. "Why? We all know what happens next. Excuse me if I don't stay to talk it over."

"You're not dying," Dean said angrily.

"No," Sam said. "It'll be worse."

He stamped down the steps and Dean listened to his crossing the large war room, scaling the stairs, and then the creak as the bunker door opened and slammed closed.

"Dammit!" Dean shouted, kicking the leg of a chair.

"He won't die!" Castiel said determinedly.

"No," Dean said, his tone hard and strained. "He's right. What'll happen to him will be worse."

Castiel looked confused. "What could be worse?"

Dean turned away without answering. Castiel could work it out on his own.

* * *

Sam drew great gasps of the clean air, too fast, too deep, but he was incapable of stopping them. He needed the air to ground himself in the moment and reality.

This was wrong, unfair, cruel even. He had done a lot in his life to deserve punishment, but this was a terrible fate. He didn't think he could bear it again. It terrified him. And Dean… he was going to suffer it all with him. He would see Sam struggle and decline, and he would feel every moment of it as surely as if it was happening to him, because that was what they did—they were a unit.

And Sam was scared.

Lucifer was going to drag him down into madness and death, and there was nothing he could do without speeding along the process, and Dean would never forgive him for that. If Sam was alone, if he only had to think of himself, he would swallow a bullet. He would take control of the situation and spare himself the pain. But that would be unforgivable to Dean; he would never recover. Sam had to fight it to the end, fight the need to give in, as much as he was able to for Dean and for Castiel. Dean needed Sam to keep going as long as he could, too. But how was he supposed to fight when he couldn't…

"Cast me out?" Lucifer said smugly.

Sam was back in the cage. The stink of sulfur was in the cold air and the far distant screams and howls echoed. The devil was leaning against the bars, smiling widely, his eyes glinting with malicious happiness.

Sam felt the urge to shove him away at once, to cast him out and free his mind.

"No, no, Sammy," Lucifer said, waggling a finger at him. "Can't do that anymore. Not unless you want to die, and you can't do that without hurting big brother and the heavenly side-kick. Because you do know how this ends, right? I can see you do."

"Screw you," Sam spat.

"Later," Lucifer said idly. "I want to talk big picture a while. You see, I have you over the metaphorical barrel now, don't I? You're going to lose either way this ends – you lose your mind or you die. Most likely one followed by the other. I win. But here's the thing, Sammy. I can help you. Come back to me, give me consent, and I will leave you free when I have done what must be done."

"When you've destroyed the world you mean," Sam said.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Please, that is so 2010. I have other, smaller plans now. I want to be free to smell the roses awhile, enjoy the sunlight on my face, maybe say hello to a few old friends, and kill Crowley. Can you blame me for a single one of those wishes?" When Sam didn't answer, he went on. "Of course you can't. You understand, Sam. You were in the cage. It's the little things you miss."

"I will never say yes," Sam said.

"Really? What are your other options? Keep casting me out with Castiel at your side like an angelic life support for when you blow a gasket? Let me stay, slowly picking away at your mind until you're a drooling mess or worse?"

"My options are to fight you," Sam said.

"How do you plan to fight when you can't cast me out?"

"There are other ways," Sam said defiantly. "Maybe we do know how this ends, but I'm not giving in to you that easily. Besides, you're forgetting something." He smiled smugly.

"Oh, really, what's that?"

Sam forced confidence into his tone that he didn't entirely feel. "My brother."

"You think Dean can save you?" Lucifer asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Sam smiled grimly. "He always has before."

"Perhaps you're right. Hmm, I suppose we should enjoy ourselves while we can then." From the sleeve of his shirt, a long, silver blade descended into his hand. With a leer he stepped forward and raised the tip to Sam's chest. "Shall we begin?"


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as he left, Dean wanted to go after Sam, but he knew he needed his space. That didn't mean he wasn't wishing Sam had chosen to stay where he could keep an eye on him. He had a twisting knot in his gut that was telling him Sam needed him, but he was doing his best to ignore it. Sam obviously needed him, he had just had a couple of bombshells dropped on him, but he needed his privacy in that moment, needed to work through things on his own, more that he needed Dean.

Maybe in a few days, when Sam had wrapped his mind around it all, he would want Dean's company to talk it out and to make sense of what happened next. Not yet though. He needed normal now. Dean could deliver that. He could make something for Sam to eat. They could watch a movie. They could just be brothers for a while. That would help him.

His surety lasted all of a few minutes before Castiel's thoughtful eyes widened and he started across the room at a jog.

"What?" Dean asked. "What's going on?"

"I heard something," Castiel answered, and then said one word that made Dean's heart relocate to his throat — "Sam!"

He raced past Castiel, through the war room and up the stairs to the door which he yanked open. He saw exactly what was wrong at once. Sam was barely ten feet from the bunker and he was on the ground seizing. His heels tapped a staccato beat on the ground and his head juddered and thrust side to side on the dirt. His elbows were drawn in close to his body and his back arched. He had a cut on his cheek that was smearing blood over his face.

Dean stopped dead for a moment, long enough for Castiel to squeeze past him and drop to his knees at Sam's side. Dean's inertia broke and he ran forward, shouting at his friend. "Do something, dammit!"

Castiel reached for Sam slowly, carefully, with a glowing hand, and Dean held his breath, wondering if it would work or was a seizure something that the angel couldn't mojo away?

His answer came quickly; as soon as Castiel laid a hand on Sam's forehead, he groaned and stilled, and the cut on his cheek disappeared. He became boneless against the ground and the rigid set of his face relaxed.

"He is resting now," Castiel said.

"Right. Good. Now, what the hell was that?" Dean asked. "What made him do… _that?_ Was he bleeding again?"

"Not in the way you mean, no. There was no injury for me to heal other than the one on his face. Whatever happened, it was not medical."

"Then what the hell was it?" Dean asked, brushing the hair back from Sam's blood smeared face.

Castiel's mouth pressed into a thin line as he considered. "I don't know what happened. We will need to ask him."

* * *

Sam felt awareness returning to him with the gentle swipe of a warm cloth against his face. He struggled back to wakefulness, drawn forward by his name being spoken by his brother. As his eyes opened and roved, they landed on Dean beside him, a washcloth in his hand and a concerned look on his face. They were in Sam's bedroom and Castiel was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression solemn.

Against Dean's weak protests, Sam sat up and shifted back so he could lean against the headboard, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He cleared his throat and asked, "So, what happened?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "You had a seizure."

Sam tried to look as though that revelation didn't horrify him. If the look in Dean's eyes was anything to go by, he failed.

"Was it another bleed?" he asked Castiel.

"No. We don't know what it was."

Which meant it was what Lucifer had done to him manifesting in the physical. He wondered when the hits would stop coming. Just when he thought he had his legs under him again, some revelation came along to sweep them out all over again.

"What happened for you?" Dean asked, his tense tone an indication of just how worried he was.

Sam hesitated for a moment, weighing up the cost of honesty versus protecting Dean from another blow. He came down on the side of honestly. "Lucifer," he said. "He dragged me in again."

"Is that all?" Castiel asked, looking at Sam closely.

Sam ducked his head, unwilling to see their reactions. "He was torturing me."

Dean cursed and Sam heard the scraping of a chair against the floor and then heavy footsteps. He didn't need to look up to know Dean was leaving. But then the footsteps stopped and there was a crash. He glanced up to see Dean extracting his hand from a dent in the wall. Though his knuckles were bleeding, there was no sign of pain in his face. He just looked angry.

"Sorry," Dean said gruffly.

Sam shrugged. He understood the desire. Had he not just suffered through a painful although mental session with Lucifer, he might be punching walls, too.

Dean drew a breath, released it in a gust, and said, "Okay, I've got to do something."

"What?" Sam asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "What are we going to do?"

He felt overwhelmed and afraid. This wasn't just Lucifer talking and taunting as it had been before, it was Lucifer torturing him in his mind and causing him to seize in the real world. He couldn't fight back because that would cause bleeds that could kill him in a second.

Dean flinched. "I don't know yet. But I will. I just need to think. I'll come up with something."

Sam knew he would. He had told Lucifer as much, but that didn't mean he didn't still have doubts. This wasn't something they could fight with a weapon; it was Lucifer. It was what the fight would cost that worried Sam more than his possible fate. There was _always_ a price, and Sam was afraid Dean would be the one to pay it. Again.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Dean crept into Sam's room, intending to leave a note explaining where he was going and what he was going to do, but Sam wasn't sleeping. He was awake, sitting up in bed with a book open on his lap, but he wasn't reading it. He wasn't looking at Dean either. He was staring blankly into space. Lucifer was there again.

Dean supposed he should be grateful that Lucifer wasn't torturing Sam to the point of seizing again, but it was a weak comfort.

"Sam, Sammy," he said, shaking his shoulder in hopes of snapping Sam out of it, but there was no response. Lucifer had his claws in deep. The one thing Dean could cling to as a positive was that Sam wasn't shoving Lucifer out and hurting himself more.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and waited for Sam to come back to himself. It took a few minutes before Sam drew in a deep breath, almost a gasp, and cast his eyes around the room, coming to rest on Dean with a wince.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam pushed his hair back and nodded, still drawing deep, perhaps calming, breaths. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Just wanted to tell you I'm heading out for a while," Dean said. "I think I've come up with a way to help."

Sam looked wary. "What is it?"

"Rowena. I'm thinking she might have a spell that can lock down the cage a little tighter. Or maybe she can do something for you. I don't know exactly what, but I think she's the answer."

"No deals," Sam said quickly.

Dean's lips pressed into a thin line. The idea had occurred to him that Rowena might want something in return or Crowley would try to use the situation to his advantage. He hoped he had a way around that though. He had an ace up his sleeve in the form of Amara.

"Dean," Sam said in a warning tone.

"No deals," he agreed. "I promise, Sam. I'll get it done the old fashioned way. Intimidation."

Sam smiled, looking relieved. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean got to his feet and said, "I better head out. Sooner I get there, sooner we get you fixed up. Try to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, picking up the book and placing it on his bedside table.

Dean made for the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard Sam moan softly. He peered back inside to see he was lying down now, but his eyes were wide and distant again. Lucifer was back already.

* * *

The drive to Massachusetts took too long, even though Dean drove until he could barely focus on the road and slept in the car. It was two days after he'd left the bunker that he pulled the Impala to a stop outside the gates of the asylum. He wanted to run in there, to demand to see Rowena, but he refused to give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing his desperation again. He was going to handle it like a Winchester.

He took a few deep, calming breaths, and then climbed out of the car and closed the door gently. He already had the demon knife in his inside pocket, and he tucked his gun into his pants. With measured steps, he walked up the path to the main door and knocked. He had to wait a full minute for someone to answer, but he didn't knock again. They'd heard him the first time; they were just screwing with him by making him wait.

When the door opened, a svelte woman was revealed. She was wearing a black pantsuit with her blonde hair curling around her face. She would have been hot if it wasn't for the black eyes and sneer. "Winchester."

"Demon," he said, pushing past her and walking along the hall toward the throne room.

"Hey, you can't just march in there!" she said, hurrying after him.

Dean stopped and sighed as if anything she said mattered a damn to him. Her strong fingers gripped his shoulder, and he turned quickly, the demon blade gripped in his hand. Before she could do more than say, "To see the King you must—" Dean had the knife pressed against her throat. She froze.

"Now, I'd love to shove this through to bone," he said conversationally, "but my bother has this thing about saving lives, so it's your lucky day, you get to live. Say thank you."

"Thank you," she hissed, her eyes dancing with hatred.

"You're welcome," Dean said. "But you don't just get to live. You get to do a good deed, too. You're going to the nearest hospital and you're going to smoke out of this poor woman and let her go home."

The demons looked furious, but also afraid. Dean shoved her away from him and she skittered down the hall and through the front door. Smiling grimly, Dean carried on down the hall to the room at the end. He flung open the doors and walked into what looked like a briefing. There were three demons standing in front of Crowley who had a clipboard in his hand and was reading out names and numbers while others lined the walls.

"Be with you in a sec, Squirrel," he said. "Just got some business of state to deal with."

"No problem," Dean said calmly. "It's your mom I came to speak to anyway."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and turned to one of the demons standing before him. "Go fetch mother."

The demon scurried from the room and Crowley waved an airy hand and addressed the others in the room, "You may leave us."

The remaining demons followed their fellow out and Dean and Crowley were alone.

Dean raised an eyebrow and lifted the demon knife he had held at his side. "Not the smartest thing you ever did, Crowley. What if this was an assassination attempt?"

"It would depend who you're planning to assassinate. If you're here to kill my mother, I'll throw you a party. If you're here to kill me, I'll enjoy seeing you pinned to the wall for the next week."

There was the click of heels against the stone floor and Rowena came into the room, her hips wiggling within the constraints of her gown. "Dean!" she said happily. "So good to see you again. How's that handsome brother of yours?" Dean wondered at her cordial greeting until he caught her eyes darting around the room, searching for something or someone. "Alone… are you?"

Dean snorted. "You mean did I bring Amara?"

"Yes."

"No, she's busy today," Dean said. "I'm sure she'll come by to see you another day though. Especially if I send her."

Rowena's flushed cheeks paled. "And why would you be wanting to do that?"

Dean shrugged. "Fun? It all depends on what happens next, I guess. See, I didn't come for a social. You're going to help me."

Crowley leaned back in his throne. "And why would she do that?"

"Because if she doesn't, I _will_ have Amara come visit. And she won't come for a social either. She'd probably enjoy wiping you out like a bug."

"You have our attention," Crowley said. "What can the old hag do for you?"

Dean drew a breath. "We've got a… problem. I need her to seal the cracks in the cage that are letting Lucifer reach out."

Crowley frowned. "He's still getting out?"

"He's reaching Sam." Dean said.

Crowley smiled slightly and then quickly covered it with a hand. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, you're scared of Amara," Dean corrected. "There's a difference."

"True." He turned to Rowena. "Mother, do your worst. Grab the Spackle, seal the cage and Dean can be on his merry way."

"Of course, son," Rowena said. "It was created by God and broken by The Darkness, but I should have no problem sealing the cracks. Give me five minutes and I'll have a spell ready to go." She rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

Crowley scowled at her. "Did you miss the part about The Darkness coming for us?"

She smiled sweetly. "For you, dear. I don't think he said anything about me."

"My mistake," Dean said. "I'm sure she'll be happy to take you both out."

Rowena drew a shaky breath. "I… I can't do it."

"Mother!" Crowley growled. "You will do whatever he damn well wants. Understand?"

Rowena turned to him and sneered. "I said can't, you moronic monarch. Did you not hear what I said about God? I may be a wonder of a witch with prodigious skills at my command and a pretty face to boot, but I don't have the power to do something like that!"

"There's got to be something else," Dean said. "Some way to block him from Sam."

"There isn't," Rowena said. "There is no spell I know with enough power to combat the Dark Prince."

"You can't help?" Dean asked, cursing the weakness in his voice.

"I really can't."

"She's not lying, Dean," Crowley said. "She is a pain in the arse and a liar, but she's got more self preservation skills than a cockroach. She's piss scared and still saying no. I believe her."

Dean turned away, the demon blade gripped in his hand. It took everything he had not to sink the blade in her chest and end the useless bitch once and for all. He wanted to for sheer annoyance, but something held him back. Sam's voice seemed to whisper to him: _'She might be able to help later. Don't destroy a potential weapon because you're pissed.'_

He made for the door without a word. Rowena and Crowley both called after him, pleading for him to wait and reconsider their promised deaths, but he paid them no attention. They could live in fearful anticipation for a while. It would do them good to be afraid. They _should_ be afraid. Dean was.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen** _

He hadn't known. God forgive him, he hadn't known. He had just seen a friend in pain and he'd done what he could, thinking he could stop it. He hadn't known what would happen.

Sam forgave him.

* * *

A few hours after Dean left, Castiel was in the library of the bunker, a stack of demonology and angel lore books open in front of him. He was steadily working his way through the tomes in hopes that he would find something, anything, to help Sam. He glanced up when he heard footsteps coming from the war room. Sam entered and Castiel's gaze roved over him, even as he said, "Hello, Sam," in a neutral tone, as if he was just greeting him on an ordinary day—as if the seizure and consequent conversation hadn't happened.

The first thing he noticed, much to his relief, was that there were no new bleeds. The second was that Sam looked tired, too tired for someone who had supposedly been sleeping for the past six hours.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, stifling a yawn.

Castiel wanted to ask how he was feeling, but that wasn't conducive to the atmosphere of normalcy he was trying to achieve for his friend.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, thinking that was the sort of question he would usually ask when greeting Sam after a rest.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He glanced at the books on the table and asked, "Anything?"

"Nothing," Castiel said apologetically. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something more, to reassure him they would find something, that Dean would get help from Rowena, but he stayed quiet.

Sam nodded as if he had expected the answer and said, "I'm going to get some coffee. You want anything?"

Castiel smiled. "It's all molecules to me." He thought, or perhaps hoped, that would raise a smile from Sam, too. It had last time, but he merely nodded now and wandered away towards the kitchen.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the book he was reading. He had only turned a few pages when he heard the tinkle of broken glass coming from the domestic area of the bunker. He wasn't immediately concerned, but then he heard the crash and thud of something heavy hitting the ground. He set off running at once, cursing the loss of his wings.

He knew what he would find from the sounds coming from the kitchen, but he still felt a wave of horror as he saw Sam seizing on the floor. His hand found Sam's temple immediately and he sent the smallest pulse of grace into his friend. The convulsions stopped at once, and Sam slumped against the tiled floor.

Castiel straightened and took a breath, just listening to Sam's now steady breaths. This was the second seizure in less than seven hours. Lucifer was really taking advantage of Sam's inability to fight back.

Castiel didn't think it was possible to hate his erstwhile brother any more than he had in the year of the apocalypse or after seeing the damage wreaked on Sam's soul by the cage, but he was wrong. What Lucifer was doing now was horrifying. He was ruining Sam completely. Taking his mind and shredding it.

Something glistened on Sam's face, and Castiel saw a tear creeping from under his closed lid and trickling down to the floor.

* * *

The problem was that it didn't end. Castiel took Sam back to his bedroom and made him as comfortable as was possible, but the seizure started again shortly after. Castiel combated it with grace, and he hoped that was perhaps the end, but it wasn't. It came again and again, and each time he cast it out, it was only a matter of time before Sam would be bucking and thrashing over the bed.

Castiel considered calling Dean back, but the most he would be able to do if he returned was watch Sam seize repeatedly and maybe talk to him. Castiel decided not to call. One of his friends was hurting already; there was no need to make things more painful for the other.

Sam didn't wake properly between times. He would toss and turn, mumbling Dean's name and sometimes Castiel's through other indecipherable words. He never sounded peaceful or at rest.

After yet another round of convulsions and grace, Castiel sat back in the chair beside the bed and considered his options. It had now been thirteen hours since Dean had left. Even if Castiel was to call him, it would be another thirteen hours before he arrived. And there would be nothing he could do.

"Dean," Sam mumbled.

"He will be back soon," Castiel said. "I am here."

"Cas?"

"Yes." He brushed back the sweat-slicked hair as he had seen Dean do so many times, hoping Sam would take some small measure of comfort from the familiar gesture.

Sam opened his eyes and they were bloodshot. He licked his lips and rasped, "I don't know how much more of this I can take, Cas."

"You just need to wait for Dean. He's getting help."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Not sure I can."

Castiel stiffened in reaction to the stress that shot through his body. "You can," he said determinedly. "You have to!"

Sam gave a weak smile and nodded, but when he said, "Okay, Cas," it sounded like he was just humoring the angel.

"Sam!"

Sam's eyes, which had been drifting shut again, opened and fixed on Castiel. "You don't have to stay here. Go for a walk or read or something."

Castiel looked at him incredulously. "You are suffering, Sam. There is no place more important for me to be than here with you."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly. He drew a breath as if testing himself and then sat up on the bed, twisting so he was facing Castiel. "You said you couldn't do anything because it would be like a lobotomy," Sam said.

"Yes. It is what I did for Fred Jones to remove his psychic abilities."

Sam looked thoughtful. "But you said he was happy."

Castiel scowled at him. "And he was, but he was also practically a vegetable. You cannot want that, Sam. Think of Dean, think of…" He trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He had never tried using his grace in this way for this long; he didn't know if any angel had. Had Dean been there he never would have even suggested it, but Sam was desperate enough that he was talking about giving up. "Do you trust me, Sam?"

"Yes," Sam said, no trace of doubt in him. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Do you remember when Gadreel took you over?"

"Yes…" Sam said slowly. "You want to use me as a vessel?"

"No!" Castiel said quickly. "I would never ask that of you. I was thinking of what he did in the times you were unaware. He created a space of peace for you. I could do something similar. It would not be a lobotomy or permanent solution; it would only be until Dean gets back. My hope is that Lucifer would be met with nothingness as your psyche would already be occupied elsewhere. He should not be able to find you within your own mind."

Sam's face became animated. "Yeah! That'd work. It has to. Do it, Cas. Please."

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked. "I will essentially be overpowering you the way Lucifer has. Your body will not be your own."

Sam huffed a laugh. "I'm guessing you'll be a little more gentle about it though."

"Yes," Castiel said. "I will definitely be that."

"Then yes, do it."

Castiel looked into his tired eyes and nodded. He would do this. Sam needed it, and if Dean came back and raged at Castiel for it, Castiel would tell him that.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, and Sam shifted so he was lying down again, his face raised to the ceiling. "Take a breath, Sam." He waited for Sam to obey and then focused on pouring a measure of his grace into Sam, sending him to sleep and opening his mind for Castiel to work.

* * *

Dean hadn't called Castiel or Sam because he knew they would have questions, hopes that he had achieved something talking to Crowley and Rowena, and he didn't want to hasten the moment of disappointment. He was still struggling to deal with his own. He just didn't know what to do next. How was he supposed to make Sam fight when he was so exhausted? And Lucifer was getting worse now, torturing him as well as chatting in his ear. How was he supposed to handle that for the rest of his life?

The Impala veered as Dean's eyes burned and someone protested his driving by leaning on their horn. Dean corrected and then slowed the car, wiping at his face. He saw an old, abandoned gas station a little ahead, and he turned on his blinker to pull in.

He climbed out as soon as he had cut the engine and made for the rear of the building, needing privacy to let out a little of his frustration. When he was out of sight of the road, he struck out a fist and slammed it into the old clapboard wall of the station. The pain that burst across his knuckles felt good and he did it again. He pummeled it with both fists, relishing the burn.

He was so absorbed by the pain that he didn't feel her arrival. One moment he was alone, the next a long fingered hand was curling around his wrist and stopping the next blow.

His head snapped around to face whoever had dared to interfere with his outburst, and then he faltered. "Amara. What are you doing here?"

"I felt your pain from the other side of the country. Dean, what is it?"

It was her gentle tone that did it. He could have handled anything but that in the moment. "Sam," he said, his voice cracking. "It's Sam."

"What has happened to him?"

Dean drew a breath and the whole story poured out, from Cold Oak and Azazel to Lilith and the cage, from the soulless resurrection to the deal he made with Death to return it. He told her about hallucinations and Castiel taking them on. He told her everything right up to the moment Sam became trapped with Lucifer for the second time, each word feeling like an outpouring of poison. He wasn't even aware of the tears that had started.

She listened to it all in thoughtful silence, nodding occasionally. When he came to a stop, wiping a hand roughly over his face, she said, "I am sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't realize until then that he'd been holding out hope for a solution from her. Her sympathetic tone didn't encourage that hope though.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked.

She shook her head. "There is something, but I don't think you would want that as a solution."

"What is it?"

"I could kill Lucifer."

Dean laughed. "That's perfect. Believe me, I _want_ that _._ "

"There would be consequences."

"Like?" Dean asked.

"The damage that would surely follow. There is a reason I only fought him in the cage instead of killing him. I have studied the apocalypse, questioned the angels I have been revenging myself upon about the world and the apocalypse my brother allowed. They all said had Michael and Lucifer fought, it would have caused a great shockwave of power that would have destroyed a large portion of this world. If I were to kill Lucifer, I believe there would be a similar result. Because Lucifer is in the cage, it would, I believe, do the most damage to Hell. A possibility is that it would break the barrier of Hell, allowing the demons complete freedom."

Dean swallowed. "And that's the worst case?"

"No. That's possibly the best. The worst case is that the world could be broken, too." She hesitated. "I would do it, if that is what you wanted, Dean. Is it what you want?"

Dean closed his eyes.

* * *

Lucifer was leaning against the wall of the library, the picture of ease as he stared at Sam where he lay curled on the floor. He had no energy to sit let alone stand. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. It wasn't physical exhaustion that weighed him down. It was all mental. It couldn't be physical, because this wasn't. For every slice of the blade, each time Lucifer gouged out Sam's chest leaving him hollow, Sam lived still in the real world.

That knowledge made it no easier to bear though. He suffered just as much as he had in the cage last time. The only difference was that, back then, there was no Castiel beside the bed, trying to make things better and offering comfort. Castiel wasn't suffering too.

Castiel was making it worse.

At first it had worked. Sam had found himself in the library of the bunker, a beer on the table in front of him and a book open. He had been so relieved, so happy, that he'd almost wept. That had lasted all of a few minutes before a cool voice spoke behind him. "Well, this is new."

Lucifer had found a way in.

"I like it," he'd said. "It's nice." He glared down at Sam. "What's not nice is you trying to hide from me. That's made me a little angry."

That had begun a new round of unending pain, torture, with the only reprieve coming when Lucifer wanted to talk. Sam had suffered it for what felt like hours, until Lucifer had stepped back, traced a hand over Sam's bare chest, smearing the blood, and began to speak in that soft, crooning voice that Sam hated more than almost anything. And Sam had borne it. He had suffered through it until he could take no more and he finally weakened. He tried to cast Lucifer out, no longer caring about the risk of death. He couldn't. He felt it at once. It was like there was a block there, stopping him from taking control of his own mind. There was. Castiel's grace.

"Tell me, Sam," Lucifer said. "Are you afraid to die?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer.

"I mean, you have to know where you'll end up, so it's got me wondering how good a job I'm doing. Is _this_ worse than the other delights the lesser levels of Hell have to offer up? Will Hell be a relief to you? Nothing to say? No? Pity." He sauntered toward Sam again, drawing his blade and piercing it through Sam's chest to just beneath the skin. "You do know you're going to Hell, right? You can't seriously believe you're going to the penthouse after releasing The Darkness."

Sam didn't speak. He moaned as Lucifer drew the tip of the blade through his chest, parting the skin like paper, but he allowed no words to escape him. His answer, had he given it, would have been no. He was not afraid of death. He knew he wasn't bound for Hell or Heaven, and yet he would have chosen death in that moment for some reprieve. He _wanted_ to fight, for Dean, for Castiel, for himself. But he was running out of fight for anything. He was fast becoming done with it all. Even knowing the risk of casting Lucifer out, the chance it could kill him, he had tried, and it hadn't worked.

Lucifer opened his mouth again to speak, and then he laughed suddenly. "Well, well, well. We have an audience, Sam. Say hello to our guest."

Sam turned his head slowly and saw Castiel standing at the top of the steps. The angel looked horrified, sickened, and he spoke in a whisper. "Sam…"

"Cas," Sam croaked. "Help me."

Castiel started forward and Lucifer laughed again. "Him, help you?" Really, Sam, don't you remember how this ended last time?"

"No!" Sam shouted as Lucifer snapped his fingers. Castiel exploded in a red mist of gore. It spattered against the walls and floor, and Sam struggled to right himself, to do he did not know what. He had no defense; he only had fear, fear and anger. The demise of his friend enraged him, empowered him, and as he got swaying to his feet, he stared Lucifer in the eye and shouted and concentrated with all the power he could muster. "Get out!"

* * *

Castiel was pushed out of Sam's head with a hard shove. He had all of a few seconds to lament it before he heard Sam's voice shout, "Get out!" with raspy strength.

Sam's back arched from the bed and Castiel saw the blood seep from his ear. He acted immediately, catching his friend on the very edge of life with a hand at his temple and a shot of grace, healing and saving in an instant. Sam's slumped back down and his eyes opened at once. They fell on Castiel, and the lines of devastation and pain transformed into exquisite relief. "Cas?"

"I'm here. I'm okay."

Sam reached for his hand where it rested on the bed and he squeezed it with all his relief driven strength.

"Thank God," Sam breathed. "Thank God."

Castiel laid his hand over Sam's and asked, "Are you okay?"

Sam hesitated for a moment and then a tear crept from his eye as he said, "No, Cas, I'm really not."

* * *

Though Dean was returning home defeated, he drove at breakneck speeds so he could get back to his brother faster. It was a dual relief and pain to open the door and descend the stairs into the bunkers

"Sam? Cas?" he called.

There were footsteps from the living quarters and Castiel appeared. Dean's first thought was that he looked wrecked and his reaction was panic. "Where's Sam?" he demanded.

"In his bedroom," Castiel replied tiredly. "He's resting."

That wasn't half the story though, Dean could tell. "What happened?"

Castiel looked almost mournful. " _I_ happened."

Dean's hands fisted. "What did you do?"

"I tried to help." Castiel walked across the room and took a seat at the table. Dean stayed standing. "Lucifer was hurting Sam almost continuously. He had so many seizures he couldn't bear it anymore. I thought I could help. We both thought it would work…"

Dean swallowed hard and asked again, "What happened?"

"I tried to create a place of peace for Sam within his own mind, much as Gadreel did when he was possessing him. I put him to rest within an imagined bunker. Dean, Lucifer got in. He found Sam in the place I created and hurt him there, and held him there. Sam couldn't force him out. He told me he tried everything, at the risk of his own life, but my grace overpowered his will." He looked down at the tabletop. "He ended up being trapped with Lucifer for days."

Dean stood, silent and immobile for a moment as he absorbed the horror of the situation, and then anger rose up in him like bile. Needing nothing more than to get away from the angel and to see his brother, he walked away. He had barely gotten a few steps before Castiel caught his arm. He yanked out of his hold and rounded on him, his lips curled back in a snarl. Castiel took a step back but when he spoke he was calm. "Dean, you need to prepare yourself before you see him. Sam has suffered a lot in the time you were away."

"And whose fault is that?" Dean asked harshly.

"Mine," Castiel replied without hesitation. "I know just how at fault I am, and that guilt will last as long as my life does, but I am trying to help you now."

It was the mention of help that made his ire rise above what he could control. " _Help_ me? Like you helped Sam, you mean? Dammit, Castiel, you stuck him in his own head with Lucifer! Why didn't you see? Why didn't you check?"

"I did. That is how Sam was able to free himself. Eventually."

"Yeah, eventually, after you left him in there with Lucifer for _days!_ I could… _"_ He trailed off as the sound of shuffling footsteps reached him coming along the corridor. He disregarded Castiel at once and moved toward the sound and then staggered to a stop as he caught sight of his brother. He looked terrible. His color was nonexistent, leaving his skin a dull pallor. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with shadows. Dean felt a wave of horror at the sight of him and the damage that had been wrought in his absence. He hurried forward to help Sam, but Castiel was already there, bracing him with an arm around his back.

Angry that Castiel thought it was still okay to be touching Sam after what he'd done, Dean pushed him aside with a sneer. "We're okay on our own, thanks."

"Dean," Sam said in an annoyed tone, "don't be a dick."

Dean bit down on his tongue to hold back the flow of angry words and helped Sam over to a chair. Sam sagged into it.

Dean glared at Castiel who had taken up residence on the chair beside Sam. "Look what you've done to him!"

Sam straightened with effort and said, "It's not his fault. I did this to myself."

"Sam, he stuck you in your own head with Satan!"

"I let him. Hell, I practically begged him to do it. We didn't know what would happen. Cas isn't the villain here, Lucifer is." He drew a deep, labored breath. "It doesn't matter now anyway. It's over."

But for how long? How long until Lucifer came back knocking, ready and able to torture Sam? Dean swallowed hard and his hands shook where they rested at his sides.

Sam's eyes found his and his face sagged as he saw something there Dean was trying to hide. "Rowena won't help, will she?"

Castiel stared at Dean and his expression seemed to challenge him, to goad him in his worthlessness and inability to deliver what Sam needed.

"She said she couldn't," Dean said. "I believe her."

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. "Okay."

Dean hesitated for a moment. When he had left Amara, it had been with her offer that she would kill Lucifer for him. He hadn't given her an answer. Knowing it was Sam's life at stake had made him want to tell her to do it without thought, but he had learned his lesson. Saving Sam would come at a huge cost, and though it was worth it to him, it surely wouldn't be worth it to Sam. Sam wouldn't count his life over anyone's. Dean would. He didn't know how to frame her offer in a way that would make Sam agree. Before he could think of a way, Sam spoke again.

"I need you to help me with something."

"Anything," Dean said automatically.

"Help me find a demon."

Castiel frowned. "Why do you want a demon?"

Sam smiled an exhausted smile. "I'm going to cure it."

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen** _

"I'm going to cure it."

Dean's mind spun back over the years to that church, to the sight of his brother with blood dripping from his palm and Crowley bound to the chair, something close to human. The look in his eyes when Dean had implored him to stop and his complete confusion, his inability to understand why it mattered that he could die when he said, "So?"

A wave of horror rose up his throat like bile and he rasped, "No."

"Dean…" Sam started, sympathetic but clearly exhausted.

"No!" Dean said with more power. "That's not happening. We're not going there again."

Castiel frowned. "You're speaking about the trials?"

Sam nodded. "I think it's the only way to stop this."

"By dying you mean?" Dean asked. "Because that is how it would end, you remember that, right? You finish the trials, you die."

Sam looked away across the room, and Dean thought Lucifer was back, but Sam blinked and spoke softly, "It's happening anyway, Dean. Look at me. I'm on borrowed time. This way I have a chance at doing some good on the way. I know it's not what you want, but you have to accept it's what's going to happen. The least I can do is control it when it happens. I'm not letting Lucifer win. He doesn't get to take me out."

"No? You'd rather you did that to yourself, right?" Dean spat. "What's the point in fighting when you can commit suicide?"

Sam stared Dean in the eye. "It's not suicide if you're already dying."

"You're not dying!" Dean argued. "Sure, you're not at your best, I get that, but that doesn't automatically mean you're on your way out."

"It does this time, Dean. You know it as well as I do. Whether it's another seizure or me shoving him out, it's going to happen, and soon."

Dean looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the things he had missed before. Sam looked terrible, as if he really was dying, but it was more than that. It was the deep lines in his forehead and the tremor in his hands, the slump in his shoulders and the wetness of his eyes. It was the look of absolute defeat in him that Dean had seen in that church, when he had been ready to end it before. Sam was fading. Last time, he'd been able to drag him back from that cliff edge with the right words. He had reached Sam, showing him that he cared and that Sam mattered more than anyone to him. He'd made him see. He couldn't do that again. Sam already knew Dean cared. He knew he was needed. He knew there was a reason to fight. He just didn't have any fight left.

The air of the room stuck in his throat and his lungs felt flat and empty. This was really happening. He was losing Sam, be it by Lucifer or by himself, he was going. He must have paled or swayed or something, as the next thing he knew Castiel was saying, "I'll help him," and a chair was being slid behind him and a hand on his shoulder pressed him to sit down. He obeyed without thought, and concentrated on dragging air through numb lips and raw throat to lungs that didn't want it.

When he had himself under control again, he looked at Sam, almost hoping that some kind of transformation would have taken place, that the way Dean felt was from somehow drawing Sam's pain into himself and curing his brother. It hadn't. Sam looked as ill and done as ever, though even sadder now.

He understood now, he could see the truth of Sam's fate, but he had one last chance to save his brother, and he was going to use it. "What if there was another way?"

"What way?" Sam asked.

"I saw Amara on my way back here. She said she could help."

He fought the urge to squirm under Sam's piercingly suspicious gaze.

"How can she help?" Sam asked slowly.

"She can kill Lucifer."

Castiel drew in a sharp breath and Dean glanced at him to see the widening of his eyes and the look of almost excitement on his face. "Yes," he breathed.

Sam wasn't excited. His suspicion seemed to have ratcheted up another level. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Uh, because you're ready to bow out with the trials, Sam. I figure if there's a solution that doesn't involve you _dying_ , you might be up for it. Am I wrong?"

"No, but I don't understand why you haven't told her to kill him already. If it was such an easy solution, you wouldn't have come back here until it was over. That means there's more to it."

"There might be a price," Dean admitted.

"I knew it!" Sam said, his voice a raw shout. "I knew it wasn't over. What does she want from you?"

"Nothing from me. She'd do it for me without asking for a thing. It's the consequences of killing Lucifer that's the… problem." He drew a breath and then spoke in a rush. "There's a chance that killing him will have the same kind of side effect as the prizefight with Michael might have. It'd be in Hell, so it might not be so bad, but it could be. She just doesn't know."

Sam stared at him, stunned, and Dean waited for the explosion. It didn't come. Sam didn't look like he had the energy for it anyway. He looked more wrecked than ever as he thumbed away a tear that crept from under his exhausted control. "You can't seriously think I'd let that happen," he said wearily.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest but didn't speak.

"I get it," Sam said sadly. "And I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't be pulling the same stunt if the situation was reversed. But I can't do it, Dean. I have been the cause of so much pain. People we love have been killed. I won't let the world suffer more because of me. This _is_ the end. I am going to do this last trial and I am going to die. It's going to be over. This is what I need, not another apocalypse."

"And me?" Dean asked, cursing the way his voice cracked. "What about what I need?"

Sam smiled sadly. "I can't give you what you need, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, refusing the apology. He looked to Castiel instead and said, "Would it even work? The trials were stopped a long time ago."

Castiel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. The secrets of the tablets were never the angels' to know."

"It'll work," Sam said confidently.

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"I feel it," he said serenely. He nodded and smiled across at Dean. "Thank you."

"I didn't say I'll help," Dean said a little bitterly. He hadn't even decided if he would yet. Accepting that Sam was dying and understanding that he wanted to go out on his own terms was one thing. Actually letting it happen, helping even, was another. He wasn't sure he could do it.

"You will," Sam said. "I know you won't let him…" He trailed off and his eyes became distant.

Lucifer was back.

* * *

Dean wanted Hell closed. He wanted every black-eyed bastard locked away for good, but at the cost of Sam's life? Not a chance. That was why he was so reassured by the knowledge it wouldn't work. Sam was going to cure a demon, but that would be the extent of his achievement. And Dean was only letting that happen because he had learned from his mistake of overriding Sam's will with Gadreel. He would go along with it, he would get Sam to the demon and help him make it through the next eight hours, and then he would comfort him when the trials failed.

They were waiting for Castiel to call to say it was all set; Sam slept while Dean gathered everything they would need for the cure. Dean himself would have gone to find the right location and the demon for Sam to work on, but he didn't trust anyone but himself to watch over Sam now. He accepted that what had happened wasn't truly Castiel's fault, but that didn't make it any easier to bear the knowledge of Sam's suffering.

Dean was just stowing the duffel he'd packed in the trunk of the Impala when he heard the shuffle of Sam's footsteps approaching. The fact that Sam's state of being was obvious before he was even in the room galled Dean. He hated that it had come to this, that Lucifer had brought Sam so low.

"Hey," Sam said, coming into the garage. His face was wan and tired but his smile was large and genuine. He was energized by something. "Cas called." And that explained the smile. "He's got us all set up in Kensington.

Dean forced a smile. "That's great."

The understanding look in Sam's eyes made it obvious that the smile had failed completely. He knew Dean was suffering; he always knew.

"We should head out."

"You in that big a hurry?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Makes sense to get it over with before Lucifer gets a grip again."

The easy way he said it, as if Lucifer breaking into his head and torturing him was as natural as breathing was infuriating. That things had come to this. Dean didn't think he had ever hated anymore more than he did Lucifer in that moment.

"Okay. I've got everything you'll need." Dean rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel. Sam braced himself on the hood as he walked to his door and almost fell into his seat.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Certainty and determination in his tone. "I'm ready."

Ready to die. It wasn't going to work. It couldn't work, because that would mean Sam was gone.

* * *

Largely, Lucifer had been tame during the hours in the church. He still dragged Sam into himself, but he didn't torture him into seizing again. He was mainly occupied with sneering comments on Sam's lack of resistance and the complete failure the attempt to close Hell would be. Sam suspected that he was so confident Sam would fail that he wasn't worried about interfering with the process.

"Sam!"

Dean's voice broke through Lucifer's hold and Sam jerked back into awareness in the chapel. Dean was leaning in close, holding the back of his neck with one hand and the other was on the arm of the chair. When he saw Sam was aware again, he released him and stepped back. "You with me?" he asked.

Sam nodded and drew in deep breaths through his nose, grounding himself in the moment and reality. He took Dean's proffered hand and allowed himself be helped to his feet. He swayed slightly, and then got a grip on himself and straightened.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked, holding out the syringe.

"Yes." Sam took the syringe and pressed the needle into his arm, drawing up the blood required with a hiss of pain. He felt Dean and Castiel's eyes on him, and he looked up at them and smiled. He wanted to give the impression of confidence and surety in what he was doing. He didn't want them picking over these last hours and seeing any trace of doubt in him that they could blame themselves for not capitalizing on when this was over, when he was gone. Though he was sure he was doing the right thing, he wasn't happy about it. He didn't want to hurt his brother and friend, and he knew he would with his death. It was the only way though. Death was coming for him and he wanted it to be on his own terms.

The demon was sitting, staring at the stained glass window that she faced. She was in the meat suit of a middle aged, motherly looking woman. Sam almost wished they were exorcising instead of curing, as this woman didn't deserve to have her body taken by a former demon. This was the demon Castiel had found though, and Sam had to work with what he had in the limited time they had.

As Sam reached to tilt her head to the side to inject the blood, she tensed and closed her eyes. She had been quiet since the fifth hour's dose. Before then, she had taunted and mocked. Sam remembered the stages of Crowley's decline into emotional breakdown, and wondered if she would mimic him to the very end, if she would cry and ask him questions he had no answer to. Just like with Crowley, he would have no answer to give if she asked what he had confessed. Not even Dean knew this time. Sam had been alone in the church when he had whispered his confession: _God, forgive me for leaving my brother behind._

* * *

Sam seemed to have sunk into a kind of exhausted stupor. He slumped in his chair with his eyes half closed. Dean stood beside him, his hand on Sam's shoulder in an unspoken gesture of comfort.

When the hour before the last dose ticked by and Dean's phone beeped, he said Sam's name softly and shook his shoulder, rousing his brother to wakefulness. "It's time," he said. Time for blood. Time for Sam to attempt to close Hell. Time for him to fail.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out for the syringe. Castiel handed it to him and Sam drew up the blood, watched by them all, the demon included. He staggered to the demon's chair and braced himself on the backrest. "Here goes," he said, forcing the needle into the demon's neck and depressing the plunger. The demon cried out at the pain, but Dean's and Castiel's attention was fixed all on Sam as he dropped the empty syringe to the floor and wiped a shaking hand over his face.

"Sam…" Dean said in a strained voice, unsure of what would follow, but Sam didn't even seem to hear him. He was drawing a penknife from his pocket and flipping open the blade. His hand shook so much as he brought it to his palm that Dean thought there was a real risk of him hitting something vital.

He plucked the knife from his hand and Sam's eyes widened, "Dean?"

"Let me help," Dean said softly. He could do this, help Sam finish the cure. He could say then with good conscience that he had helped Sam try to do what he thought he needed to do. When he was consoling him later, back at the bunker, Sam couldn't blame Dean for not supporting him. That felt important.

Sam nodded and a wash of gratitude seemed to flow through him. He held out his hand and Dean drew the tip of the blade quickly across his palm. Blood welled in the wound and Sam brought it slowly to the demon's mouth and smiled. "It's okay," he said gently. The demon's eyes were wide and afraid but Sam's were reassuring as he spoke the Latin required.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegro. Lustra! Lustra!"_ Sam staggered back and Dean raised his arms to catch him. He panted with strain, and Dean brought a hand around to his chest and patted it. "Easy," Dean said. "You're okay."

"What? Why? What happened?" the demon asked, "What did I do?" The eyes were brown and the expression horrified, but neither Dean nor Castiel paid it more that a moment's attention.

"Wow," Sam gasped. "It's done."

That wasn't true. It was almost done. There was still the trial to attempt.

Sam stepped out of Dean's hold and turned to face him, his tired face resigned. "Thank you," he said. There was no pretending he was thanking Dean for his help in the immediate. There was too much emphasis for that. Dean shook his head. He couldn't bear to hear the goodbye, even though it wasn't spoken directly. "Sam, don't…" He didn't want Sam to even attempt it. He didn't want to draw Sam to the attention of the fates. "Don't do it," he said. "You cured her. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"I have to try," Sam said.

He turned to Castiel and with a sad sigh, Castiel stepped forward and his arms came up to embrace Sam. They held each other for only a moment before Sam was pulling back and smiling sadly. "See ya, Cas."

When Sam turned to him, Dean stepped back, shaking his head. "No," he croaked.

Sam looked sad but understanding, as he said, "Okay," and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and opened his mouth to speak.

Dean acted instinctively. He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into a hug. They held each other long, their breaths coming fast and hard in unison, and Dean tried to swallow down the horror that was rising in him at the possibility that this could be it. He tried to find the words to tell Sam not to do it, to stop him, but then Sam was stepping back and patting Dean's cheek and he still hadn't spoken.

With one hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam smiled and said. "Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr."

There was nothing for a moment, and then his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled. Dean grabbed at him, calling out his name, but Sam slipped through his weak grip and fell hard onto the floor. Dean shouted his name again but Sam's unseeing eyes didn't blink and his parted lips formed no words.

He was already gone.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

A keening cry ripped through the air that Dean didn't immediately realize was coming from him. The moment he did, it cut off and was replaced by the echoing of his own accursed heartbeat in his ears. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it over. He wanted to bleed, end, die, because that would be nothing to the way he felt already.

His knees buckled and he dropped beside his brother, falling to the side, only stopped from collapsing completely by Castiel who knelt beside him and braced an arm around his shoulders. Dean slumped against him. His eyes were fixed on Sam's face, lax and pale, empty of life and expression.

"It wasn't supposed to work," he moaned. "Cas, it wasn't supposed to work."

"I know," Castiel replied solemnly. "I know."

Dean turned to him, half blinded by tears. "Help him. You have to help him."

Castiel reached for Sam, and Dean had to stop himself from shoving his hand aside. He didn't want anyone touching Sam but him; no one else had that right.

Bright light spilled from Castiel's hand as it settled over Sam's breastbone, and Dean held his breath, waiting for the gasp that would mean Sam was saved, but it didn't come. Sam remained perfectly still.

"Why…?" Dean began, but Castiel shushed him and closed his eyes, his face contorting with effort. Nothing happened. The only breaths drawn were Castiel's pants and Dean's shallow ones.

Castiel fell back on his haunches, his eyes wide and horrified. "There is nothing there," he said. "I _can't_." His voice broke on the last word.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"His soul is beyond my reach. I can't sense it or touch it. Sam is gone."

Dean slumped forward, falling onto Sam. His face pressed against his chest, his tears damping the fabric of Sam's shirt. He had known from the minute that Sam fell that it was over. That Sam wasn't coming back this time. He had felt it in his heart. Sam had closed hell, he'd succeeded, and it was over now. Sam had been right all along. It had worked.

Dean should have listened. He should have found a way to stop him. He should have trapped him in the bunker until he could make Sam see that you didn't just do shit like this. You didn't leave the people that needed you behind. You didn't abandon the people that loved you. Family didn't do that.

He straightened and gripped Sam's face hard in his hands. "How could you do that?" he asked. "How could you leave me? Why?"

* * *

"Because I had no choice, Dean," Sam replied.

He stood beside the body that had been his own and watched his brother grieve. He hadn't been oblivious to the fact that he was going to hurt Dean. He'd asked for forgiveness, but now he saw he'd been asking the wrong person; it had been Dean's absolution he'd needed, not God's.

Despite his brother's pain, he didn't regret what he'd done, despite the fact he was apparently now cursed to spend eternity watching Dean live without him. He supposed it was better than being trapped in the empty, but it was still a cruel fate. How long until he went vengeful? Would it be someone he knew who was compelled to hunt him or would it be some long into the future hunter whose name he didn't know? Would he outlast Dean's life, or would Castiel become the subject of his vigil?

Dean was crying over his body, and Sam ached for him, but at the same time, selfishly, he felt free. Lucifer was gone. There was no voice whispering to him or blades cutting into his flesh. He wasn't hurting like that anymore. Now it was a different pain—the pain of consequence.

He turned away from the sight and fixed his eyes on the angel's. Castiel looked desolate and shocked. Sam would have thought he would be immune to the pain of death by now. He was an angel, and he had seen so much in his millennia of life. Sam underestimated him.

He wondered what would happen next. Would Dean find the strength to salt and burn him, or would he be buried? He had always thought of a funeral pyre when he'd imagined his death, but he hadn't been able to do that for Dean when he'd died. Dean had always been stronger though. He might be able to do the right thing where Sam had failed.

Sam's maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a high wind rushing at them. The windows of the church shattered and glass flew in. Dean spread himself over Sam's body, protecting him needlessly from the shards, and Castiel spread himself over Dean, his coat held open to protect him.

The cured demon in the chair cried out in shock and pain as cuts appeared on her exposed skin. Neither Dean nor Castiel paid her any attention. Their gazes were fixed on the devil's trap beneath the chair. The red paint was glowing and bright light was spilling forth from the center. Sam had seen something familiar the night Lilith had died, and his immediate thought was, _Oh, God, what have I done?_

Then the demons appeared. Black smoke poured through every window, seemingly dragged toward the trap. The darkness of it almost obliterated any sight Sam had. All he could do was stand watching uselessly as the demons poured through the floor, one after the other. They screamed as they went. Sam could hear them, howls of fear as they were siphoned away from earth.

It seemed to last forever, the banished demons being dragged into the pit, but eventually it slowed. The very last demon was the one Sam wanted to see gone more than any other. Deep red smoke tore through the window and Crowley's voice bellowed a curse as it was sucked away into the floor. As the last of him passed through, the light vanished and the trap's glow disappeared. All that was left of it was dull paint that looked years old rather than hours.

"Proud of yourself, aren't you?" a voice said behind him.

Sam spun and saw Billie, the reaper, standing before him. She peered around his shoulder and looked at the devil's trap. "Impressive, Winchester. Didn't think you had it in you." `

"What do you want?"

"I think you already know," she replied. She held out a hand to him, an indecipherable smile on her face. "You're going to need to come with me."

Swallowing hard, Sam took one last longing look at his brother and friend and then accepted her proffered hand. He knew where he was going, and yet he wasn't afraid. He was going to the empty, but he was going triumphant. He had sealed Hell.

* * *

For a long time after the last of the demon smoke had been siphoned through the trap, Dean and Castiel were silent, both absorbing what had happened. It was Dean who found his voice first, asking the question he already knew the answer to. "What the Hell was that?"

"That?" a familiar woman's voice replied. "That was quite literally _Hell._ The Pit has called them all on home. Not a single demon remains on earth. Score for the Winchesters."

Dean looked from Castiel to Billie and reached for Sam's hand, gripping the cold fingers tightly in his own. "You're not taking him."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm here for Sam? Been there, reaped that. He's already been shipped off."

"You took him?"

"Yep. And you know what, he didn't resist. Even knowing where he was heading, Sam took it like a pro and came along quietly."

"Where he was heading?" Castiel asked, his eyes narrowing.

"He didn't tell you?" she asked. "Of course he didn't. Probably didn't want the added angst. See, I told Sam a while ago where you two were heading, and it wasn't anywhere good."

"You took him to Hell?" Castiel accused.

Dean felt sick. That couldn't be Sam's fate, not after everything he'd done for the world.

"Oh no, there was somewhere far more interesting lined up for Sam Winchester than the Pit. Tell me, angel, what do you know about the empty?"

Dean's eyes snapped to him in time to see the color drain from Castiel's face and his eyes widen.

"What's the empty?" Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

"It's nothingness," Castiel said. "It's outside creation itself. Nothing comes back from the empty" He looked as sickened as Dean felt. His blade dropped into his hand and he became murderous.

She laughed. "Are you going to try to kill me, angel?"

"I am going to succeed," Castiel said, stepping forward.

She raised her hands. "You might want to listen before you start jabbing with that pig-sticker. See, I was _supposed_ to dump him in the empty, I told him as much, but last minute orders came through. He got a reward for his sacrifice." She smiled wickedly, enjoying their fear. "I snuck him upstairs. Sam Winchester is sitting pretty in Heaven right now."

Dean felt a wave of relief tinged with bitterness and anger. Sam was in heaven, that was awesome, but he had gone to his death knowing that he was supposed to end up outside creation itself, irretrievable. How could he do that: cheat Dean out of the chance to save him?

"He's just as unreachable now as he would be in the empty," she said. "It would take God to sneak him out, and he's been missing a while now. Still, beats the alternative, right?"

Yes, it did, but that didn't make it good. Sam was still gone.

Billie sauntered forward and Dean stepped back.

"Touch him and I will kill you," Castiel said angrily.

Billie laughed. "As much as I'd love to be the one to say I reaped _both_ Winchesters, I'm bound by the rules. This one isn't ready yet. I'm here for her." She pointed to the bound woman in the trap. Her head had fallen forward and her breaths had ceased. Sam had cured her only for her to die.

Ignoring Billie, Dean returned to Sam's side and brushed his hair back from his face. He knew what had to happen next, but he wasn't quite ready. He wanted just a little longer with his brother before that.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes to bright sunshine and the sound of birdsong. He looked up at the clear blue sky and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. He felt good, refreshed, as if the memory of his death and Dean's grief was just a distant memory. He was disconnected from the pain.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet. He knew where he was at once, and his immediate feeling was one of relief—not only was he in Heaven, he was _there_.

Had he known Heaven was where he would end up, he would have imagined one of the twisted memories he had of the last time he was there: a Thanksgiving meal with a family that wasn't his, a cabin in the woods where he had fled. This was perfect though. Exactly what he would have chosen had he the chance, though it was nothing special to anyone but his family: an old farmhouse in the middle of salvage yard.

He started walking toward the house, slowly at first and then faster until he was jogging. He needed to see; he needed to know. When he reached the door, he hesitated. His heart could be broken if he went inside. He could be alone. Bobby could be gone. His heaven could be the memory of what he'd once had in the home of his friend.

He stopped with his hand raised to knock, wondering if it would be better to stay outside and spend eternity in hope rather than devastating knowledge. Ultimately, he had no choice in the matter. The door swung open. For an instant Sam was afraid he was going to be met with a gloating angel, he'd met so many in his time, but a gruff voice spoke and his heart leapt. "You come all this way to stand on the doorstep?"

Sam looked into Bobby's eyes and smiled wider than he had in a long time. "Hey."

Bobby sighed softly. "Hey yourself." Instead of letting Sam into the house, he stepped outside and took a seat on the steps. Sam sat beside him and looked out over the perfect memory of Bobby's place. "How are you here?" Sam asked. "I thought you'd be punished."

"I was," Bobby said darkly. "But what happened to you?"

Sam smiled slightly. "I slammed Hell shut."

Bobby frowned. "Thought that was happening a while ago."

"I got delayed."

"And why do I think there's a butt-load more to it than that?" Bobby asked,

"Because there is. I'll tell you sometime, but can we just be happy about it for a while?"

"You're dead, Sam. There's nothing happy about that."

Sam shrugged. "Had to happen sometime. I'm just pleased I did some good on the way out."

"Yeah, because that's a first for you," Bobby said sarcastically.

"Believe me, Bobby, this is better than what I was living with."

"And Dean, what's he living with?"

Sam looked away, unable to answer.

"That's what I thought. Well, we better move fast if you want the full experience."

Sam frowned. "Experience?"

"Yeah, I got a few people waiting for you, and you should see them before Dean steps in and does something crazy to get you back."

"I don't think he can this time, Bobby," Sam said, an echo of remembered sadness in his voice. "Like I said, Hell's shut tight. There's no deals."

"And that's the only trick up his sleeve?" Bobby scoffed. "Sam, you know better. No, I'm betting on Dean. Aren't you?"

"I always have before," Sam admitted.

"Thought so." Bobby got laboriously to his feet and opened the door. "Come on in then. Don't keep them waiting. It's not often we can all get together, and like we both know, time's limited."

Sam followed him into the house. He froze as he took in the people waiting for him. John and Mary, Ellen and Jo, Ash and Pamela. His eyes filled with tears as he looked from loved face to face. Mary and John stood at the front of the group, their own eyes soft and welcoming. "Son," John said in a gentler voice than Sam had ever heard him use in life.

"Dad," he sighed, his careful control slipping and a tear tracing down his cheek. Mary came forward and wiped away it away with a soft hand. "Hello, love," she said. She opened her arms and Sam stepped into them, feeling her warm embrace and relishing it.

If not for the absence of one person, it would have been perfect. It would have been like home.

* * *

Dean was so distracted by his grief that he heard her approach before he felt her. The moment he did, he lurched to his feet and staggered forward. "Amara."

"I felt your pain." She said as she looked from Dean's haggard face to Sam and sighed. "I am sorry."

Dean nodded and swiped a hand over his face.

Castiel came forward, no sign of his usual caution when faced with her. "Can you do something? The reaper said it would take God, but you're…"

"I am his sister," she said. "Yes. I can do something."

Dean's heart contracted painfully in his chest. "Please, help him."

She seemed to stare right through Dean with her intense gaze. "Is he in Hell again?"

"No, Heaven," Castiel said.

Her mouth pressed into a line. "And you want me to bring him back? Everything I have heard of Heaven leads me to believe that it is a place people aspire to be."

"It's different for Sam and Dean," Castiel said, saving Dean the need to admit his selfishness. Heaven was the reward. People wanted to be there. But Dean and Sam needed to be together. It was the way they worked.

Seemingly satisfied, Amara nodded. "I will do what I can for him." She stepped around Dean and crouched at Sam's side. Dean hurried to copy her, taking Sam's other side and laying a hand on his cheek, turning his face to his, wanting himself to be the first thing Sam felt and saw.

Amara took a deep, calming breath, and then rested her palm over Sam's chest. Dean fixed his eyes on Sam's closed ones and waited with bated breath for his brother to come back to him.

* * *

Sam was overwhelmed by everything, and the people he loved seemed to sense it, as after greeting him each in their own way, only John and Mary stayed really close.

"And the demons sort of flooded through the trap," Sam said, finishing his explanation of what had happened after he'd finished the last trial. "I think it's really done."

"Seems like it," John said. "You did good, son."

That was high praise from his father, and Sam smiled in return. Mary wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Sam basked in her love.

Bobby set a glass of whiskey down in front of him and smiled. "Get that down you. Sounds like you've earned it."

"No hangovers, remember?" Ash called from across the room.

Sam saluted him with his drink and took a sip. He had barely swallowed before the room dimmed. "What?" he started.

"I'd say that'd be Dean," Bobby said in a satisfied voice.

"But…" Dark smoke poured through the wall and came at Sam. He drew a breath and braced himself for pain. None came, there was a feeling of weightlessness and pressure in his chest, and then everything fading as Bobby's voice called, "Tell Dean—" but Sam didn't hear the rest as he was gasping back to life on the floor of a church in Kansas.

* * *

Sam's eyes snapped open and for a moment he looked genuinely terrified. Dean patted his cheek and bowed over him so he was filling Sam's vision. "Easy," he said in a choked voice. "You're okay."

Sam drew in heaving breaths and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam!" Dean said harshly. "Look at me!"

A tear slipped out from under Sam's eyelid and Dean wiped it away. The action seemed to spur something in Sam as he looked up at Dean.

"You're okay," Dean said again.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he rasped. "I'm okay."

Dean dragged him up, one hand under his head and the other in his shirt, and pulled him against his chest. Sam's own arms came up to hold Dean.

"Okay, Sammy," he said quietly. "You're okay. You're back. I'm here."

He glanced up at Amara and mouthed a thank you to her. She smiled and nodded, then disappeared without a sound. Castiel moved into her place and laid a hand on Sam's back. Dean closed his eyes, feeling Sam's merciful breaths filling his lungs and he soothed him with quiet reassurances.

When Sam had calmed slightly, Dean released him and held him by the shoulders, looking into his now calmer but worried eyes.

"How did you do it?" Sam asked.

"Without a deal, without offering anything up," Dean said. "We're both okay, understand?"

"You swear?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Dean said. "We're all going to be fine. Right, Cas?"

Castiel nodded and smiled. "Yes. We're all going to be fine."

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders a little tighter and stared into his eyes. The three of them were all that was left of what had been so many friends and family lost over the years, just the three of them now, and they were all going to be okay. There were no more demons to deal with, the monsters they could handle, and Amara had saved Sam.

They'd won this time.


End file.
